


On the first day of Christmas (my true love gave to me)

by Luthien



Series: Luthien Does Writer's Month 2019 [17]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Australia, Background Sansa/Theon - Freeform, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Presents, F/M, Family Reunions, Fashion & Couture, Hemsworths, Holiday Fling, Romance, background Yara/Ellaria, holiday romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-10-28 19:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20783741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: Christmas Day arrives, and presents are exchanged.





	1. Brienne

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nire and slipsthrufingers for audiencing!
> 
> Prompt: First time. In this case, Brienne's first Christmas in summer.
> 
> Lovely art by afterbaedeker:
> 
>   


It surprised Brienne how quickly she'd become used to the idea of summer in December. Of course, the Australian summer weather had been impossible to ignore, but even so, it was surprising how few days it had taken her to become accustomed to the fact of it. Even Christmas shopping had been weird more because she was doing it in the middle of the night in an attempt to escape the notice of the paparazzi—the very idea still made her blink in astonishment—than because it was summer at the time. She also hadn't missed the bulky layers of clothing that she usually wore when subjecting herself to the ordeal of braving the shops in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

However, Christmas Day itself was quite another story.

Brienne woke not particularly early, but not impossibly late, either, and found that she was alone in bed. If it had been any other day, or any other week, she might have been tempted to roll over and just pretend to be asleep for a little while longer. But this was Christmas Day and she was halfway through her week with Jaime. It wasn't a day for lying about in bed. Not by herself, anyway.

She threw on the sundress that she'd left lying over the back of the chair by the window last night, and padded across the plush, luxurious rug and out the bedroom door in search of Jaime.

Brienne found him just hoisting himself out of the water and onto the side of the pool. She stopped in the doorway without really intending to, just watching his muscles flex, and appreciating the way his wet skin glistened in the morning light. When he turned his head and saw her there, and smiled, that warm, beautiful smile that lit up his face, Brienne felt as if her heart had stopped, as if she were frozen in place. Frozen, and yet so hot that she felt as if she were melting.

Jaime hauled himself to his feet, dripping. He was wearing a pair of tiny black swimming trunks that somehow managed to draw more attention to the… shape of him than when he'd been in the pool stark naked their first night here.

"Merry Christmas," he said, picking up a towel off a pool chair and leaving wet footprints behind him as he bridged the distance between them. His lips brushed across hers in greeting. They were as wet as the rest of him, and tasted of chlorine.

"Happy Christmas," Brienne said, though it seemed surreal. Christmas was winter and short, grey days, and time spent back at home on the farm. Christmas was her dad and all the silly little annual traditions that Brienne had foolishly believed would continue on every year into the future just because they always had before. Christmas was not swims in the summer sun and men who smiled at her the way Jaime just had.

"You look like you could use a cup of tea," Jaime said, stepping back to give her an assessing sort of look.

"Always."

"Then let me get you a cup of tea."

Brienne smiled. "Thank you." At least tea made things feel a little more like they should be, both in terms of the older tradition of Christmas at home, and the newer tradition of this week with Jaime. She hadn't yet made a cup of tea for herself since she met him.

Brienne hung back a little as Jaime walked towards the door, partly because she was still lost in her own thoughts, and partly because… well, she'd been admiring the view every time he turned and walked away since he first did it, just minutes after they met.

Jaime turned and took her hand. "Come on," he said, and Brienne was forced to drag her eyes away from his backside and up to his face. But his face held its own compensations, particularly when he smiled at her, and leaned in to kiss her and…

~*~

Her phone buzzed as she sat down at the kitchen island a little while later, so Brienne tapped in her passcode and discovered a message from Margaery.

Margaery: Happpy chrstmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Brienne: r u at Loras's place?

Brienne waited, but there was no reply. Margaery was usually very careful with how she expressed herself, both in speech and in any sort of written word, even text, so it was pretty clear that she was currently at least two sheets to the wind, and maybe three, and more than likely at her brother's annual Christmas Eve party. The time on her phone right now was 8.17 AM. That meant it was 10.17 PM last night in London. Margaery would have to be at the party by now. Loras or his boyfriend Renly would keep an eye on her—would _have_ to keep an eye on her—since Brienne wasn't there to do the job.

She sighed, only partly in relief, and typed a quick "Happy Christmas" in reply, before setting her phone down on the kitchen island.

"Everything okay?" Jaime asked, popping a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. He was wearing a pair of long shorts now, though he was still distractingly shirtless.

"Everything's fine," Brienne said. "It's just my friend Margaery. She's at a Christmas Eve bash that we go to every year."

Jaime went still. He was already standing in one place, so he was technically already sort of still. But as soon as Brienne mentioned Loras's party, he became stiller. "You're sorry you're missing it?"

"Yes. No. Yes and no. I don't really enjoy parties all that much. They're just not my thing. But…" She sighed again. "Margaery is usually a very together person, very focused, very competent. But every so often she just… lets go. And usually I'm there to look out for her when she does."

"But she has other friends?" Jaime said, turning to get the teabags out of the overhead cupboard.

"Lots, and the party is at her brother's house, so it's not like she's in a bar by herself somewhere, but…" Brienne sighed again.

"Her brother always hosts this party?" Jaime reached into another cupboard to retrieve two mugs.

"Yes, every year. I've been going to it with Margaery since we first met when we were students."

"So no doubt he or someone else there will keep an eye on your friend."

"He probably will, unless he's too busy being a host. Or maybe Renly will."

"Another friend?" Jaime asked, as he deposited a teabag in each mug.

"In a way," Brienne said, and felt the sudden, familiar warmth touch her face. Apparently the memory of her hopeless crush on Renly from years ago was _still_ enough to embarrass her.

"Oh?" Jaime asked, still not looking at her as he lifted the kettle from its stand and started pouring boiling water into first one mug and then the other.

"He's Loras's boyfriend," Brienne explained shortly, really, _really_ not wanting to go into all—or indeed any—of the humiliating details.

"Oh." Jaime said, stepping over to the refrigerator. "That's nice." His smile, when he returned with the milk, was far bigger and broader than that stray piece of information really warranted.

"What?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

Jaime shrugged. "It's just good to know that your friend Margaery has family nearby who can look out for her."

He turned around again, as the toast popped up in the toaster. Brienne could almost believe that he was avoiding her gaze, but that didn't make any sense. She turned her attention back to her phone again, but there was still no response from Margaery. She checked her emails, but found nothing more personal than a request from the RSPCA for a donation in their winter appeal. Then, as she watched, a new message popped up in the list. _Merry Christmas_, said the subject line.

It was from Aunt Lizzie.

Brienne stared at it, but didn't open it. Did she really want to? She thought that the answer to that was probably no, and yet she couldn't help but feel curious. She was still staring at the screen when Jaime set down the mug of tea and plate of toast on the counter.

"Thanks," Brienne said, setting her phone down, and only then realising that breakfast wasn't the only thing he'd placed before her. There were two small, rectangular boxes, wrapped in shiny Christmas gift paper, one on either side of the plate with the toast on it.

"Merry Christmas," Jaime said, his smile… shy? Or maybe nervous? _Not_ self-assured, whatever else it was.

Brienne knew the feeling. "I'll be right back," she said, before scrambling to her feet and turning tail. She knew she was running, but at least she wasn't running very far. She shut the bedroom door behind her and sat down on the side of the bed, panting as if she'd just run the 100 metre sprint at the Olympics.

She forced a few deep breaths in and out of her lungs, waiting until she calmed, and then she went to her luggage—Bronn had brought the rest of their belongings from the resort in Byron Bay yesterday—and dug down beneath several layers of clothes until she found the two objects that she'd hidden there. They were both wrapped in red and green Christmas paper. One was smaller and lumpier than either of the two presents that Jaime had given her, while the other was as rectangular as the ones he had set by her plate, but somewhat larger.

Brienne picked up both gifts and, squaring her shoulders, marched across the room and opened the door. It wasn't a big deal, she told herself. They were just two people exchanging gifts at Christmas. It was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Except that when she came back into the main living area of the apartment and found Jaime standing exactly where she'd left him, Brienne remembered all of the reasons why this Christmas was _not_ the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Merry Christmas," she said, setting down both gifts in front of him. "One silly present and one serious, and I truly hope you'll accept them in the spirit that they're given."

"Brienne," Jaime said. "I'm sure I'll love whatever you've chosen to give me." He was no longer looking nervous, or whatever it was that had taken hold of him before she'd fled the room. The expression in his eyes was warm now, as it almost always was when he looked at her, and a little amused.

"And I'm sure I'll-" She stopped, and stared at the two presents by her plate. "Why have you given me two presents? I thought the dress that you're having Melisandre make would be one."

Jaime took a long sip of his own tea before answering her. "The dress is for something else. A sort of Christmas-aligned present that will be delivered tomorrow."

"Christmas-aligned?" she asked. "What does that even mean?"

"You'll find out," he said.

"Jaime, you know how we discussed extravagance the other day. The whole thing with the dress, it's not going to be _really_ extravagant, is it?" Brienne dreaded to think about just what sort of occasion a dress like that might be considered appropriate.

"Maybe a little extravagant," Jaime admitted. "Now, let's open these presents. I got you one silly and one serious, in keeping with your tradition."

"And one 'Christmas-aligned'," Brienne reminded him, but tears pricked at her eyes. _Merry Christmas, Dad_, she thought. _The tradition is still alive_. "Which ones should we open first, do you think? Silly or serious?" She took a sip of her tea, telling herself to be calm.

"Silly first?" Jaime suggested.

"Then you should start with that large one." Brienne nodded towards it. "And which one should I start with?" she added.

"Guess," Jaime said, with the hint of a mischievous grin.

Brienne considered the two presents in front of her. They were very similar in size and shape, but while one had clearly been wrapped in-store, with experienced hands and lots of curly silver ribbon, the other looked a bit more slapdash. The ends of the shiny red and gold paper had been stuck down with a frankly excessive amount of tape, and they could in no way be considered symmetrical. "That one," she said, pointing at the second one.

"Good guess," Jaime said.

He set down his tea and wasted no time in ripping the paper off the larger of his two presents, while Brienne went more slowly with hers, taking care not to tear the wrapping paper more than she had to.

Jaime let the wrapping paper fall to the floor as he looked down at the present that had just been revealed. It was a 1:43 diecast scale model of an Aston Martin sports car in bright cherry red in a large, plastic display box. "Brienne," he said in a low voice.

Brienne tensed. Had it been the wrong choice, after all? She'd thought at the time, when she'd gone into the shop and chosen it, that Jaime would understand her reasons. But maybe he didn't? Maybe he thought it was some sort of joke in poor taste? Maybe-

"Brienne," Jaime said again. His arm snaked around her shoulders, and he was kissing her cheek, before pulling her around a little way on her stool so that he could kiss her properly. "Thank you," he said.

"You understand why?" Brienne asked. "It's just a placeholder, until you get the real thing back."

"Yes, I get it." He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "You really put a lot of thought into this."

"That's part of the family tradition." She shrugged. "Probably the most important part. To find a present that's _for_ the recipient, and no one else."

Jaime was silent for a moment, but he kept staring at her intently until Brienne wanted to squirm, self-conscious.

"I think…" he said, voice trailing off as if he were still deciding whether to give voice to the thought in his head. "I think," he said again, "that my mother would have liked that. She used to approach Christmas in that sort of way, now that I can look back through an adult's eyes. And I think she would have liked you." He was still looking at her with that steady, intent green gaze. Brienne didn't know where to look. "Are you going to finish opening that present?" he said at last, but his voice was much lighter than the look on his face.

"Oh, yes," Brienne said, glad to be given the excuse to look somewhere else. She pulled away the final layer—the gift had been wrapped in several more layers of Christmas paper than were actually needed —and found herself staring down at a small, black velvet jeweller's box. It was a little too large, and too rectangular, to be a ring box, but not big enough to contain a bracelet or necklace. So… what? Some other small piece of jewellery? But Jaime had said that this was her silly present. A piece of jewellery couldn't be silly.

Cautiously, Brienne found the catch and flicked it with her thumb. She opened the box to reveal… a pair of earrings. But _what_ a pair of earrings they were. She had been wrong a moment ago, when she'd thought that a piece of jewellery couldn't be silly. She looked up, and found Jaime still watching her, but this time the corners of his mouth were turned up in a grin. "Silly enough for you?" he asked.

Brienne looked down again, at the two earrings. They were pendant earrings, with a picture window at the top, and the rest done in silver filigree. The windows both contained a picture of a smiling Hemsworth. Thor himself, in fact.

"They're perfect," Brienne said, and then covered her face in her hands to try to smother the laughter that she could no longer hold in. "Where on earth did you find them? How did you even know that something like this existed?" She bit down on another burst of laughter. "Oh, it was Bronn, wasn't it?"

Jaime shook his head. "No, I got these for you myself. They were by the counter in the place where you bought that silk scarf for Shae. I'm surprised that you didn't see them."

"That's what you were buying in there!" Brienne realised. She vaguely remembered the cheap souvenir earrings for sale in that shop, and looked down at her very own pair of grinning Hemsworths with bemusement. Jaime Lannister, the man who could have bought almost anything for her, had settled on a $20 pair of earrings simply because of what she'd told him about her very first impression of him. It definitely wasn't a present that would have been right for anyone else. Her father would have approved of the sentiment, if nothing else.

Jaime looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. "Now open the other one," he said.

Brienne picked up the remaining present, which was neatly wrapped in blue and white paper. She used a knife from the knife block—a Wüsthof knife, because of course it was—to cut the silver ribbon, and unwrapped the present just as carefully as she had the other one. She folded the wrapping paper back, and there was a box, identical to the one that held her Hemsworths.

"More earrings?" she asked. No doubt these ones had cost more than $20.

"Open it and see," Jaime said. The look he gave her was enigmatic, giving nothing away, and yet Brienne was sure that he was nervous. There was tension there, somehow. Maybe it was in the way he held himself, a little too stiffly. Three days ago, Brienne would not have picked up on that, but three days ago she didn't know Jaime's body the way she did now.

She'd never known anyone's body the way she knew Jaime's, every square centimetre of skin, every tiny nuance that denoted some difference from the way it _should_ be. She'd certainly never known Hyle's body even slightly as well, despite the fact that they'd dated—if you could call it that—and slept together for several months last year before Brienne asked that they go back to being friends.

She'd never be able to do that with Jaime. They'd never be friends. Not _just_ friends. They'd been on the path to becoming lovers from the moment they met.

"Are you going to open it?" Jaime asked, and Brienne jumped. She'd just been sitting there, staring at the box.

"I will," she said. She found the catch easily this time, and pushed up the lid.

Inside was… _not_ another pair of earrings. It was a pendant in the shape of a teardrop, on a delicate silver chain. Brienne looked up, already shaking her head. "Oh, Jaime, I can't accept this."

"What are you talking about? Of course you can accept it."

Brienne stared helplessly down at the pendant. It was a beautiful thing, the teardrop itself wrought in white gold or perhaps platinum, and inside it was a breaking wave, the shape picked out in sapphires and tiny diamonds. It reminded her of the view from the living room in Jaime's suite at the resort in Byron Bay, the view he so often stared out at, and how the bright Australian sun sparkled on the waves.

"It's too much," Brienne said.

"Do you think I'd give this particular piece of jewellery to anyone else?" he asked quietly, not quite throwing her own words from just a few minutes ago back at her, but coming close. "Would it have any meaning to anyone but you and me?"

Brienne sighed shakily. He had fulfilled the most important part of her family tradition, she wouldn't try to deny that, but… "No one's ever given me jewellery before. Not _real_ jewellery," she added, as Jaime raised a hand to point to the box containing the Hemsworth earrings.

Jaime sat down on the barstool next to hers. He didn't say anything at first but just laid his arm across her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Someone should have," he said, kissing her temple. "I'm glad I could be the first, but I shouldn't have been. Let me make up for Hunt and however many others like him there were." His voice grew tight as he finished talking, as though he were speaking through clenched teeth.

Brienne turned to look at him properly and saw the tension around his eyes, and along his jaw. "You sound…quite jealous," she said. She found it hard to believe, but the evidence of her eyes and ears couldn't be denied.

"I do, don't I?" Jaime agreed.

"There's no reason to be."

"I don't-" Jaime began, but Brienne held a finger to his lips.

"I just mean there hasn't really been anybody to be jealous _of_."

"But Hunt-"

"It wasn't a very good relationship. It was convenience, more than anything. And when it stopped being convenient for me, I ended it." Brienne reached up and cupped the side of Jaime's face in her hand. "It was never anything like this." She leaned forward to kiss him, softly, and he kissed her back, just as softly. "So I don't really have a choice but to say thank you for the most beautiful gift that anyone has ever given me. It will be the perfect memento of three of the best days of my life, and I feel sure that the next four will be just as good."

She smiled, but Jaime did not smile back. He looked as if he were about to say something, but instead he got up and went over to the toaster. He stuffed a couple of slices of bread into it, and shoved the lever down.

"You should open your other present," Brienne said hesitantly into the ensuing silence, not quite sure what had gone wrong, but just that it had. Somehow, things were not as right as they had been a moment ago.

"I will," Jaime said. But he waited for the toast to pop up, and spread it with Vegemite—Brienne didn't know how he could do that, not when there was such a thing as Marmite in the world—before he turned around at last and returned with the toast to sit beside her.

Brienne sipped her tea, and gave him a tentative smile. He smiled back, but there was something somehow spiky and brittle about his smile this time. Brienne didn't like it. It felt as if he were wearing a mask, that the real Jaime, the one she knew, the one who smiled and laughed with her so _warmly_, who kissed her and caressed her until she was breathless and squirming with the need of him, was hidden somewhere beneath that unsettling smile.

"I hope you like it," Brienne said, nodding at the small bundle wrapped in green and red Christmas paper.

"What could it be?" Jaime said, sounding a bit more like himself again as he picked it up and gave it a slight shake. "Doesn't rattle, not car-shaped… It's not even box-shaped."

"There's only one way to find out. You might want to be a little more careful opening this one, though. I wouldn't want it to drop out of the wrapping and onto the floor."

"Duly noted," Jaime said with a sidelong glance at her. His expression no longer looked so unsettlingly sharp, to Brienne's great relief.

She watched as he removed the wrapping paper, aware of the thudding of her heart, the sudden clamminess of her palms. What if he didn't like it? What if he thought it was silly? What if he didn't understand?

Jaime had opened the paper at one end, and now he held the opening over his hand. A small, silvery object dropped out and onto his palm.

"It's a Roman coin, a silver antoninianus. From the early third century AD, featuring the Emperor Caracalla, formerly known as Antoninus. It's… it's been mine since I was fifteen," Brienne said in a rush. "I found it in one of our fields, and my dad had it made up as a pendant for me for Christmas one year. It's not worth all that much as ancient coins go—maybe £100?—but I thought maybe you could use it as a good luck charm. If you wanted to. The bust on the obverse side-"

It was Jaime's turn to place his finger on Brienne's lips. "Thank you," he said. "No one has ever given me anything remotely like this—and I don't just mean because it's a Roman coin."

There was something so serious in the depths of his eyes as he looked at her that Brienne wanted very badly to look away. But she didn't. She held his gaze. "I'm glad that you like it. I thought maybe you wouldn't… or wouldn't understand."

"I understand how much this must mean to you. I'm… honoured that you chose to give it to me. But are you sure you want to part with it?"

Brienne shook her head. "No, it's yours. I wanted to give you something that you couldn't get anywhere else, something that was from _me_ to you." She almost said 'something to remember me by', but something warned her not to. She didn't want Jaime to withdraw from her, to throw up his barriers again, as he had when she'd mentioned that she would only be here for another four days. Because that must have been what caused it, mustn't it? Jaime didn't want her to go.

But she had to go, when the time came, if only because the thought of staying here, beyond the boundaries of their holiday fling, made her feel even sicker with apprehension than the thought of going home by herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep meaning to mention that I'm luthienebonyx on tumblr, if you want to find me there.
> 
> Also, a question: I did [this tiny little snippet of audio](https://luthienebonyx.tumblr.com/post/187919038083/nire-the-mithridatist-wanted-to-hear-an) the other day, and got a couple of requests to do audios of the entire series. It's not something I've done before, but is it something that people might be interested in? Please lmk, one way or the other, in the comments. (I won't be offended if you don't think it's a good idea for me to do it, whether because you're not interested or you don't like the sound of my voice or whatever! I'd just like to get a feel for what the mood is out there.)
> 
> And (second) lastly: The Hemsworth earrings are real, though that shop was over-pricing them a bit. You can get them for A$16.00 on Ebay. Also, I'd just like to note that I've really gone above and beyond the call of duty with this fic, because now Ebay keeps sending me emails wondering if I'd like a nice matching pair of Thor earrings!
> 
> And definitely finally lastly: the Roman coin pendant is also real, and pretty much as described in the story, though it wasn't dug up in a field in England afaik. It looks like this:


	2. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries on the dress that Melisandre has created for her, and then she and Jaime drive south to see Tyrion and Shae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to slipsthrufingers and Nire for looking this over for me!

"There," Jaime said, as he did up the clasp at the back of Brienne's neck. One hand slipped around to the front to touch the pendant briefly, making sure that it was lying exactly in place. His fingertips lingered against the bare skin at the base of her throat, a feather light touch that had her breath catching. She inhaled deeply, shuddering as she forced the air back out of her lungs.

Jaime took a step back. "It suits you," he said.

Brienne wasn't sure if he was talking about the pendant, or her new dress—which she was wearing for the first time today—or the wild flush that she could feel blooming across her cheeks like a wave washing over the sea strand. It was definitely a flush and not a blush, though. She was getting to know the difference. And since it _was_ a flush, she was glad of the way the fabric of the dress was gathered at the top, so that it hung loosely enough that the tightening of her nipples wasn't immediately obvious.

"You should wear the one I gave you," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Since I'm wearing both of your presents." She shook her head a little, and the Hemsworth earrings bounced against her neck. She expected him to refuse, and then realised she didn't even know why she thought that. Maybe it was just that Hyle would have objected at the idea of wearing such a thing, even if she had called it a good luck charm and not a pendant. But then, she never would have given it to Hyle in the first place.

"Of course I'm going to wear it," Jaime said. "Melisandre should have a suitable chain I can use. We'll stop in on the way down."

Brienne stared at him, in a sort of wonder. He was so sure of who he was—and not just because he was a rich and famous Lannister, but because he was _Jaime_—that the idea of wearing what amounted to a necklace didn't faze him one bit. He didn't see it as a threat to his masculinity, as Hyle undoubtedly would have. But then, as she was already well aware, she never would have given it to Hyle in the first place.

Brienne decided that she wouldn't think about Hyle again today. He didn't matter any more. She picked up the presents for Shae and Tyrion, still waiting where she'd left them on the coffee table. "Are you ready to leave?" she asked.

Jaime held up his car keys. "Let's go."

And so they went.

He drew her to him and kissed her as the lift door closed, just because he could—or at least Brienne thought that was why. It wasn't a long kiss, because it wasn't a long elevator ride. It stopped two floors down, but Jaime only let her go after the doors had opened and then closed again. Brienne jammed the 'open doors' button a split second before the lift could take off again with them still inside. They made it out through the doors somehow, hand in hand rather than lip to lip—not to mention hip to hip—and the lift continued on down to some lesser floor.

Bronn answered their knock on Melisandre's door. Jaime just looked at him. Bronn looked back with a grin and a wink. It was up to Brienne to break the silence, which she did with a simple, "Merry Christmas, Bronn."

"Merry Christmas, Miss Tarth," he said. "A bit different from Christmas in old Blighty, eh?"

"A bit," Brienne agreed.

"It's going to be a hot one today. You can feel it already."

"Are you going to let us in, or are we just going to stand here talking about the weather like-" Jaime began.

"You'd better watch how you finish that," Bronn advised. "I'm not the only pommy present."

"So you're _not_ going to let us in?" Jaime enquired.

Bronn stepped back, and Jaime did likewise, letting Brienne precede him into the room. It was just the smallest and most ordinary of courtesies, but she felt the weight of it anyway. Men didn't usually bother with that sort of old-fashioned chivalry when it came to her. Not that she wanted or needed it, because she was a modern woman who could look after herself, thank you very much. But it would be nice to find herself in a situation where she had the opportunity to decline it once in a while.

But of course she didn't decline it this time, because Jaime wasn't trying to be patronising, and she wouldn't hurt him for the world. Especially not today. They could have a conversation about it some other time, and she would explain to him why it wasn't necessary.

She couldn't stop the tiny thrill that shivered through her as she stepped into Melisandre's apartment ahead of him, though.

"Good morning, and Happy Christmas," Melisandre said. She was wearing another long gown, this one made of silk in several different shades of cream and white, but the ruby still glinted at her throat. "Your gown is ready, Miss Tarth."

"Please call me Brienne, and Happy Christmas," Brienne said quickly. Why did everyone who worked for Jaime in any capacity insist on addressing her so formally? He was some stupidly rich and famous businessman while Brienne was only his fleeting casual affair, and yet both Melisandre and Bronn treated him more casually than they did her.

Melisandre smiled a professional sort of smile, and turned to Jaime and Bronn. "You men. Outside, please," she said, pointing to the sliding door that led out onto the balcony. It was not a request.

They complied, though Bronn detoured via the refrigerator to collect two beers and, when Jaime shook his head, a bottle of beer and one of water. Once the door had shut behind them, Melisandre pulled the blind across so that they could not see in. With a small sigh of satisfaction, she turned to Brienne and made a dramatic and sweeping gesture with her arms.

Brienne wasn't sure what to make of that for a moment. She almost asked Melisandre if she was quite all right, but then she realised that Melisandre's hands were both pointed towards a dress hanging from a tall rack on the other side of the room.

Brienne set down her handbag, and the presents for Tyrion and Shae, and walked over to take a better look at the dress. "That's… that's for me?" she said, because she couldn't quite believe it. The dress was the sort she'd only seen on the red carpet before some major awards show on television. It was a deep blue, the fabric of the skirt very soft and light, diaphanous, and shot with silver. It flared gently at the sides, with a lot of delicate beadwork peeping out from between the folds. And as for the bodice… It was sleeveless, and all beadwork and lace. The neckline dipped just a little, but not so much that it would reveal any cleavage, or Brienne's distinct lack thereof.

How many hours had Melisandre and her seamstresses spent working on all those beads over the past two days? Brienne didn't like to think about it.

"Who else would it be for?" Melisandre asked. "It's made to your measurements, and it's an original design, so it's _only_ for you, and no one else."

Brienne felt as if she were in a dream—even more of one than this whole week had already turned out to be. She almost said so, except that there was no real point in saying anything like that to someone like Melisandre, who made it very clear that she was here to do her job.

"Can I try it on?" Brienne said, reaching out to touch the skirt. It was soft and silky in her hand, and so incredibly light.

Melisandre didn't quite say 'Why else are you here?', but her, "Of course," left little doubt that that was what she would have said to any other client but Brienne.

And there it was again. She was treating Brienne as if Brienne were special, not just a client but an out of the ordinary client.

"There's a cape, too," Melisandre said, nodding towards a nearby hanger. The cape was floor length, like the dress, and made of the same fabric. "And undergarments. I'll bring them into the spare bedroom and you can try on the entire ensemble." Melisandre picked up a small pile of what Brienne now realised was underwear in flesh-toned silk from the table beside the dress and handed it to her. Then she took both the dress and the cape down from their respective hooks and, holding one in each hand high above her head to stop the hems from sweeping along the floor, she led the way. Brienne could do little but follow.

To Brienne's relief, Melisandre laid out the dress and the cape on the spare bed and left her to it. She stripped off and tried on the underthings. They were soft and extremely comfortable, as if they'd been made for her—but, of course, they had. The knickers were more like very short, lacy shorts. Brienne was more than a little glad that the dress didn't require her to wear a thong on something equally scanty beneath it. The bra was strapless, but provided more than enough support for Brienne's needs, not to mention some much-needed cover beneath the lacy bodice.

Brienne stared at her reflection in the free-standing dressing mirror for a moment, and then slipped on the dress. Despite the intricacies of the dress's design, it did up easily enough, with a zip concealed in the seam at each side. The skirt fell almost to the floor, stopping just an inch or so above her toes. Brienne had worn relatively few dresses in her life, and she's certainly never worn one that was this long, or one that was exactly the right length on her.

She looked at herself in the mirror again—and sighed. The dress was beautiful, there could be no doubt, with the gorgeously soft fabric and glittering beading turning it into something close to a work of art. The cut was nothing like as tight and clingy as some of those gowns she'd seen on the red carpet over the years, either. She wouldn't feel like quite such a spectacle in it, if she wore it to go out somewhere with Jaime—because that must surely be his purpose in giving it to her.

She tried not to think too hard about just what and where that occasion might be.

After a moment, Brienne forced her attention back to the dress. The colour suited her, and made her eyes look like two deep blue pools. And the pendant that Jaime had given her for Christmas was both beautiful enough and blue enough that it was a perfect match with the dress, but…

But.

That was still her face. She was still Brienne, and nothing would ever change that.

There was a soft tap at the door, and Melisandre entered the room. "It suits you," she said, without preamble. "But I knew it would. I have the eye for it." She made it sound as if 'the eye' was some sort of magical power akin to second sight. "Let's try it with the cape."

Brienne tried to shrink down in place so that Melisandre would be able to reach her shoulders, but Melisandre immediately said, "No. I can reach. I'm used to dressing models."

Brienne wanted to say that she was no model, but she couldn't deny that she was as tall, or taller, than any fashion model, so she stood there, trying to stand straight and hold her head high and not feel so horribly self-conscious that she wanted to run into the bathroom and hide, preferably for the rest of the day.

"What do you think?" Melisandre asked as she finished fussing with the cape at the back of Brienne's neck and stepped back.

Brienne turned to look at her reflection. It was still her face and her hair at the top. There was no changing or dressing up those aspects of her—not unless there was a professional make-up artist and a hairdresser handy—and yet she did look more stately, more… regal now. The dress was designed to display itself rather than to call attention to her body, for which Brienne was profoundly grateful, but the cape took the whole look to another level. It felt a little like armour, or at least a shield. She was safe beneath its folds.

"I… like it," Brienne said slowly. "I like it very much." She smiled at Melisandre. "Thank you."

"I'd say 'my pleasure', but it has been a very arduous couple of days and nights getting this ready. However, I am gratified that you like it, just the same. At the House of Melisandre, we aim to please, and deliver to the highest standards."

"Well, you've certainly done that this time," Brienne assured her.

Melisandre nodded. "Since you're happy with the ensemble, I'll leave you to change. I'll ensure it's wrapped and boxed, and it will be waiting upstairs for you tonight when you get back from the Lannister Christmas gathering."

"Oh, it's not the Lannister Christmas gathering. It's just Jaime's brother and his wife."

Melisandre gave Brienne an inscrutable look, but "I'll let you get changed," was all she said, and in another moment the door had closed behind her.

Brienne changed quickly, relieved to be back in her ordinary clothes, even though the new dress she'd bought at the mall the other night had been as far from her ordinary clothes as anything she'd ever owned before, right up until she'd tried on the gown that Melisandre had created.

She returned to the great room to find Jaime and Bronn recalled from exile on the balcony. Jaime was fastening a silver chain at the back of his neck. He turned to Brienne as she entered the room, and held out the silver coin that now hung around his neck.

"Do you approve?" he asked.

"It suits you," she said with a little smile.

"So does yours." Jaime stepped closer, and took her pendant in his hand so that it lay side by side with his against his palm.

He was standing very close. It was impossible for Brienne's smile not to widen, when there was an answering smile on his-

"Ahem." It was Bronn's voice right behind them, deep and unsubtle.

Brienne jumped. It was lucky that Jaime only had a loose hold on her pendant, or the results might have been disastrous—for the pendant, or for Brienne's neck, or perhaps both.

"We should get going," Jaime said, appearing quite unruffled.

Brienne wondered how he did that. Practice, she supposed.

Melisandre led them to the door. "Have a safe trip," she said.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Bronn told them as he came to stand beside Melisandre.

"That leaves us with a lot of scope," Jaime pointed out.

Bronn winked.

Brienne closed her eyes for a very brief moment and shook her head. "Thank you again, Melisandre, for all your hard work," she said to the other woman. "I hope you have a very nice Christmas Day."

"I don't celebrate any more, but it's nice to have a day off." Melisandre's eyes flicked briefly towards Jaime.

Jaime didn't appear to notice.

Then they were saying their goodbyes, and a moment later it was just the two of them again, waiting for the lift. It arrived almost immediately. This time, Brienne was ready, and went into Jaime's arms before the doors had slid shut.

It was a long way down.

Luckily, no one called the lift from any of the lower floors.

Eventually, the doors opened at the lower ground floor onto the garage. And then they shut again. It was only when the lift ascended back to the fourth floor that Brienne pushed hard against Jaime's chest and took a step back. They stood in either corner at the back of the lift as the doors slid open, trying very hard to act as if this was the way they usually rode in lifts together, and not… as they had been a moment ago.

A family got in: mother, father, and two children aged somewhere between five and ten, all dressed in casual summer clothes. The parents struggled through the doors of the lift, laden with huge plastic containers of food and bags of presents wrapped in shiny Christmas paper, while the children squealed in excitement and started an impromptu war between a Barbie doll and… Was that a Thor action figure?

Brienne turned her head and wasn't at all surprised to find Jaime's eyes on her. He was grinning. His grin grew wider as Brienne shook her head slightly, just enough to make her Thor earrings jiggle.

They made it safely back down to the garage without further incident, though Brienne made sure to stay in her corner of the lift, without meeting Jaime's eyes again, until the family in front of them had exited it. She hurried out behind them, but Jaime caught up with her almost immediately and took her hand. "I'd really like to g- Oh!" she said.

The SUV in which Bronn had driven them from Byron Bay was still in the parking space where they'd left it after returning from their middle of the night shopping trip the night before last, but in the space beside it stood another vehicle. A very familiar vehicle: a cherry red Aston Martin sports car.

"Jaime! Why didn't you- I didn't think it would be back so soon," Brienne exclaimed. She realised as soon as the words were out of her mouth that she should have expected this. Mere mortals like herself would no doubt have to wait weeks for a car to be repaired through their insurance company at this time of year, but of course Lannisters were not mere mortals. "I should have got you something else for Christmas." The toy sports car seemed rather redundant now.

"Don't you dare suggest taking it back," Jaime said. "It's mine now, and I've always been jealous with my toys."

The way he looked at her then, all sultry, possessive promise, Brienne almost asked if he viewed her as some sort of toy. But then he pulled her close and kissed her again, and all thoughts fled.

A sudden tension between her shoulder blades, a feeling of being _watched_, had Brienne drawing back. Glancing around, she saw that one of the children who had shared the lift with them, a girl of about seven, was staring with round eyes from across the garage. Brienne flashed her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and looked quickly away as the child's mother called, "Maddie, get in the car. And don't stare. It's rude."

Brienne felt her face go hot, and they hadn't even made it outside into the sunshine yet. Still, it was a good reminder, if she'd needed one. She was going to be spending Christmas Day with _Lannisters_. She should do her best to keep her head down and be as discreet as possible, or a pair of eyes belonging to one small girl would be the least of her worries.

Jaime hadn't let go of her hand, and now he pulled her towards the car, clicking the button on the remote control to unlock it—and do more than unlock it. As Brienne watched, the roof of the car slid back until the interior was open to the sky—or at least open to the ceiling of the garage.

Brienne stared at it. Yes, driving down the motorway in a bright red Aston Martin convertible with the top down, that was going to be an _excellent_ way of keeping a low profile.

"Maybe you could put the top back up until we get out of the city?" Brienne suggested. "I'm going to need some time to apply enough sunscreen." There wasn't much point in even thinking about putting on her hat. It would be blown off in five seconds flat. For the first time in her life, she found herself wishing she owned a hat pin.

"I was going to wait until we were out on the freeway," Jaime assured her. "I just...It's nice to have her back." He laid a possessive hand on the curve where the back of the car met the side. Brienne just stopped herself from asking if they'd like a few minutes alone.

With another click of the remote, the roof of the car slid silently back into place, and soon they were driving out the garage doors and into the summer sunshine.

~*~

"You're quiet," Jaime said, about half an hour down the road, after they'd left most of the Gold Coast behind them and were skirting the local airport.

"Just watching the scenery go by," Brienne said, and it was true. The scenery here wasn't like anything she was used to, the leaves of most of the trees a drab olive, while the tufts of grass by the side of the road were a parched pale yellow. It didn't matter that she'd seen countryside like this almost every day since she'd arrived in Australia; it still felt a little like looking at not just another country, but possibly another dimension, where everything was _almost_ familiar but just slightly off enough to be unsettling.

It still didn't feel quite real. Any of it.

Something about the way she replied, or the way she was sitting, or _something_, must have communicated itself to Jaime, because he didn't ask what she thought about the scenery. Instead, he said, "We're about to cross the state border again—I think it's halfway down the runway at the airport, or something like that. Do you want to celebrate returning to New South Wales by stopping for a coffee." He nodded towards the golden arches of a McDonald's looming in the near distance.

Brienne shook her head. "I'm certain your brother is going to make sure that we drink plenty of coffee by the time this day is done." She jumped then, as Jaime's hand came to rest on her knee, and turned to look at him properly.

"In that case, let's put the top down," Jaime said, his eyes actually seeming to sparkle in anticipation.

"Let me apply a bit more sunscreen first," Brienne said, even though she'd already lathered the stuff all over her arms and face, and right down to the neckline of her dress. She got out the tube of sunscreen and applied a bit more to her nose and cheeks, and down along the sides of her neck. All the while, Jaime's hand stayed on her knee, his palm warm against her bare skin. Contact. Connection. And a few other words that didn't begin with 'c'.

Brienne swallowed, dropped the sunscreen back into her bag, and said, "Okay, I'm done."

His hand left her, and she felt the lack of it enough that some part of her wanted to cry out in protest, but he was already pressing the button on the dash and it was too late. She shut her eyes as the roof slid away, feeling the breeze catch her hair as the merciless heat of the Australian sun beat down on her face. Bronn had been right; it was going to be a hot one.

She didn't start a moment later when she felt Jaime's hand find her knee again. Instead, she let out a long sigh, releasing the tension that had already started to gather inside her, and opened her eyes. She was dazzled for a moment, the sun was so outrageously bright, but when she could see properly again it was to find him looking at her.

"Keep your eyes on the road," she said.

"Okay," Jaime said, and did as she asked, but he smiled, and didn't move his hand.

Brienne looked at him for a long moment, just taking him in. After all, _she_ didn't have to keep her eyes on the road. He was beautiful, in a purely objective, aesthetic sort of way: absurdly regular features, golden hair and a long, lithe, perfectly proportioned body. After three days, and a ridiculously large proportion of those three days spent in bed—and sometimes in the pool—she knew that body better than she'd ever known anyone's, a realisation that still made her feel as if all of this was not quite real, no matter how many times she found herself thinking about it. But he was beautiful because he was Jaime, too. She knew that much, even if she still didn't know all of him in the way she wanted to, as deeply as she knew the sides of himself that he'd already let her see. She had four days left. It was going to have to be enough.

"What?" Jaime asked. "Do I have something on my…" He followed her gaze down. She wasn't looking at his face, or anywhere near it.

"No!" Brienne said, but she didn't blush, as she once would have. She grinned. It was Christmas Day and it was summer, and she was driving in a bright red convertible with the wind in her hair, beside a man who looked like he'd just stepped off a film set and had in fact just this morning stepped out of her bed.

"Let's see if she's really back in working order, then." Jaime flashed a grin at Brienne and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The car took off down the motorway, as sleek and smooth and powerful as a rocket arcing across the sky.

Brienne threw back her head and laughed in sheer exhilaration.

Jaime's hand was still on her knee.

~*~

The rest of the drive to Casterly Rock seemed to fly past, far quicker than their journey north from Byron Bay a few days earlier, despite the fact that the distance was greater this time, and also despite the fact that Jaime slowed down to something close to the speed limit after a minute or two of letting the Aston Martin off the leash. The roads were almost deserted. Perhaps most people who had plans to be somewhere on Christmas Day had done their travelling already. However it was, there were few other vehicles on the motorway, and none at all that belonged to anyone with any sort of camera trained on them. None that Brienne had spotted, anyway.

Less than an hour after they passed the airport, Brienne looked out the window—or where the window would be if either window or roof were up—and realised that she knew where she was. A minute or so later, they reached the sign indicating the turn-off to Byron Bay, and a few minutes after that, the knight that guarded the Macadamia Castle came into view.

"Sure you don't want to stop off? Maybe for a Christmas Day picture?" Brienne asked, pointing up at the knight.

"I don't think they're open on Christmas Day. Besides, I already have all the pictures I need." Jaime patted his shorts pocket, where he carried his phone.

They drove on.

This part of the highway was a little inland and out of sight of the coast, and the scenery didn't change much, so after a few more minutes Brienne got out her phone and tried texting Margaery again. She wasn't really surprised when there was no response, even after she sent a couple more texts and waited several minutes.

"You could always call her," Jaime suggested, glancing over at Brienne as she frowned down at her phone.

Brienne shook her head. "No. By this time of night she'll either be asleep, and not happy to be interrupted, or—more likely—not asleep, and even more not happy to be interrupted."

"Try again tonight," Jaime said. "You can always call then, when it's daytime there, if you still haven't heard anything."

It was good advice, sensible advice. In fact, it was exactly the sort of advice that Brienne would have given to anyone else in her situation. And yet she felt a twinge of unease about Margaery's continuing silence, one that she couldn't shake, however much she might tell herself that it was nothing.

Sighing, she flipped through her messages and emails—the unopened email from Aunt Lizzie stared balefully up at her from the screen—and quickly closed the app again. After that, she idly googled Melisandre, and was not entirely surprised to discover that she had first made her name as a costume designer—mostly for the movies made at the studios on the Gold Coast, and in the surrounding area—before branching out into couture. Now that Brienne considered it, it was obvious that there was something performative about the dress and cape that Melisandre had designed and made for her. Brienne wasn't any sort of actress, but perhaps she could find a way to hide her real self beneath the illusion that the dress would provide. Again, the thought crossed her mind that it could be a sort of armour for her against the paps, if they should be out in force when Jaime took her to wherever or whatever it was that the dress was intended for.

Paps, celebrities, couture… She'd never thought that any of these would be any sort of factor in her life, ever, until she'd met Jaime. And now…

Something else occurred to her. She googled 'Hemsworth' and 'Thor' and 'wife', clicked on the image results and… there she was. The woman who had spoken to her in the restaurant the other night, and told her, "Good for you!" Small and delicate and blonde… and someone who understood Brienne's current situation, at least when it came to media interest, in a way that probably no one else she'd ever met did.

Brienne smiled, just a little. She'd never felt much solidarity with other women before, mostly because they'd never shown much solidarity towards her before. No one but Margaery, really. Until she'd met Margaery, Brienne had thought that there was something deficient about her, that she was missing the female friendship gene. Margaery had proved her wrong about that, and first Shae and now Mrs Thor, had shown her kindness when there was nothing in it for them. It had proved that Brienne's somehow earning Margaery's friendship was not some sort of fluke. Maybe it was simply that Brienne wasn't hiding herself in quite the way she used to, back when she was a teenager and she'd been… well, not happy, but _relieved_ when people didn't notice her.

Now her picture had appeared on the gossip pages, there wasn't much chance of her not being noticed. Not until she went home again, in any case.

Four days to go.

"We're nearly there," Jaime said.

Brienne looked up from her phone as Jaime slowed to turn left at the sign that said 'Casterly Rock'. The Pacific Highway didn't so much bypass Casterly Rock as simply bend around the edge of it, so almost as soon as they'd left the highway they were driving down the main street of the little town, past the dead motel, past the tiny supermarket, and the restaurant, and yes, past a certain coffee shop as well.

Just over three days ago, Brienne had walked through the door of that coffee shop, and her life had turned upside down. She glanced at Jaime, and found that his eyes were on 'Coffee on the Rocks' too.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. It wasn't a question she ever would have asked anyone not so long ago, because you never knew what the answer might turn out to be. But this time she trusted that whatever Jaime was thinking, it wouldn't be anything bad. It would be just the opposite.

"I'm thinking it's lucky that Tyrion needed me to mind the shop that day." Jaime slowed the car before pulling up outside a tall, possibly Victorian building right at the end of the main street, closest to the beach. He turned off the ignition and looked across at her, his hand settling on her knee once more. "And now here we are again," he said.

"Here we are again," Brienne echoed. There was a smile in his eyes, and she was sure there was an answering smile in hers.

It was a soft kiss this time, more promise than passion, but even before it was over, a familiar voice cut through the moment.

"Well, well, well. Or should that be 'ho, ho, ho'? I suppose it doesn't make much difference, but perhaps you'd like to come in before this kiss ends up on the front page of _the Sydney Morning Herald_ as well?" said Tyrion Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like a visual of the dress Melisandre has created for Brienne, it's quite like the dress in the middle of the top row [here](https://luthienebonyx.tumblr.com/post/187732339693/simulacraryn-evermore-fashion-mireille), but in a slightly lighter fabric, and with a cape in the same colour, like a couple of the dresses in the fourth and fifth rows.


	3. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Christmas presents are exchanged, and it turns out that Brienne's family isn't the only one with its own strange little traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to slipsthrufingers and Nire, who helped me edit this chapter when my brain was a mush of pain and painkillers. It would not be fit to be seen without them.

The two storey house that Tyrion and Shae lived in looked as if it had once been a commercial building, with only two shallow steps standing between the front door and the pavement of Casterly Rock's main street. The doorway was arched, matching the tall windows along the front at street level, and, together with the solid, cream-painted brickwork, they conveyed an impression of subdued elegance and permanence. Brienne's hunch was confirmed when she glanced up above the door as they followed Tyrion inside and saw 'Bank of New South Wales 1886' in raised lettering marked out in brick red paint just below the roofline.

The interior of the building proved to be much more modern in style, though the window frames appeared to be the original 19th Century timber, dark with age. Mahogany? Oregon? Cedar? Jaime's family had been involved in the cedar-cutting trade up here then, hadn't they? Not that Brienne really cared right now. She was far more concerned with what Tyrion had just said than on his choice of decor.

"The front page of _The Sydney Morning Herald?_" she hissed at Jaime, as soon as Tyrion had left them to fetch Shae.

"The picture of us appeared yesterday," Jaime admitted. His voice was quiet but something about his expression was hard: the sudden tension around his jaw and the slight narrowing of his eyes. He looked a little like the man who had tried to punch the photographer the day those pictures were taken. "I wasn't going to tell you. Why spoil a perfect day?"

Brienne inhaled sharply. She could understand his reasoning, at least so far as yesterday went. But today… "Tyrion's obviously seen it. Shae too, most likely."

"They won't say anything. Well, apart from what Tyrion's already said. He'll save that until we're alone." Jaime's slightly weary sigh made it clear that the 'we' he was talking about did not include Brienne or Shae.

"Yes, but they'll… they'll _know_," Brienne said. 

"I think they would have got a pretty good idea before long anyway. Bronn says we're not very subtle when we're in the same room."

"Oh, _Bronn_ says." Brienne huffed and rolled her eyes, even if she had to admit that Bronn was probably right. "But that's still not the same as… as _seeing_ what we didn't intend for anyone to see."

"Would you not have come today, if you'd known about the picture?"

Brienne hesitated. "No," she said, and then hurried on as she saw Jaime's shoulders tense. "I mean 'no', as in, I still would have come. It's just…" The thought made her curl up a little inside and not want to uncurl ever again. "I would have preferred a bit more warning. Or any warning." 

"Yeah, I suppose I didn't think it all the way through," Jaime admitted, "but I was a bit distracted. _Yesterday._" He smiled at her then, and the memory of every single moment that they were together yesterday was there in his eyes. There had been a lot of moments, and a lot of togetherness.

The soft brush of his lips over hers was a better apology than any words could have been. Brienne felt Jaime's hand, warm against the side of her neck, and then she was leaning into the kiss, leaning into...

"Jaime. Brienne. Welcome!" Shae's voice said behind them, just as a deeper, "Ahem!" at the same moment announced Tyrion's return.

Brienne turned to greet Shae. "Thank you for having me," she said, and tried very hard not to hear Aunt Lizzie's voice as she said it.

"It is our pleasure," Shae said, and there was something in the way she said it that made Brienne think that maybe Shae was conscious of the absence of people she'd once shared Christmas with, too. Well, if Shae could go to the trouble of making sure that Brienne had somewhere to be on Christmas Day, the least Brienne could do was provide a distraction in return. That way, neither of them would have much time to dwell on the empty spaces in their lives where there had once been people they'd cared about.

Hugs and air kisses were exchanged, between Brienne and Shae, anyway. Brienne managed to keep her sigh of relief on the inside once those were over, but Jaime caught her eye and… yes, of course he knew. He was uncannily good at reading her. At least, he was in some ways. His hand brushed hers as Shae and Tyrion led them to the kitchen, in the corner of the great, open plan room that made up a good portion of the ground floor. The upper floor did not extend to this end of the house, though it clearly had done originally, and so the ceiling soared high above them, while light streamed in through the two rows of east-facing windows. Beyond was the beach, obscured a little by the small stand of pine trees that served as a windbreak, but the ocean was still clearly visible beyond. The sunlight sparkled on the waves, and Brienne thought at once of the view from Jaime's room at the resort, and the one from the balcony of the Gold Coast apartment. An appreciation for sea views appeared to be a Lannister characteristic.

Shae sat them down at the kitchen island, and Tyrion was already pouring drinks before Brienne had a chance to decline.

"Can I help with anything?" Brienne asked, looking around. There didn't seem to be much in the way of food or place settings or anything laid out. No Christmas decorations had been put up, either. Not even a Christmas tree.

Tyrion shook his head. "No, there's nothing for you to do except sip that drink and talk, until it's time to go up the street." He glanced at Jaime. "We're having lunch at Kelp."

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "I expected that you'd be getting the caterers in. I didn't expect that we'd be going to the catering."

"Yara's trying out her new menu on us for lunch, and in return I'm taking care of the coffee afterwards."

"Kelp?" Brienne asked. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"It's the restaurant next door to Coffee on the Rocks. Yara Greyjoy runs it, and her brother Theon helps out. Their partners will be there, too, so that makes eight of us for lunch."

Brienne said nothing, but for a few seconds all she could think was that that meant _six_ people who would have seen that picture of her and Jaime on the front page of the newspaper, all sitting down to Christmas lunch together and carefully not mentioning it. She sipped her glass of wine, the icy coldness of it welcome against her lips after the heat of the day outside. It was a white wine in an unusual shade of deep gold, slightly fruity to the taste, but not sweet, and with a sort of zestiness to it that appealed.

She'd have asked Tyrion what it was, but it was probably so far out of her usual price range that it was simply better not to know.

"But first we must exchange Christmas presents!" Shae said, getting up, and then immediately sitting down again as Tyrion placed a gentle hand on her arm. The frustration was written plainly on her face for a second, but then she forced it away, like a bitter pill that she had no choice but to swallow, and said with a brightness that sounded only a little false, "You know where they are, Tyrion."

They exchanged a look then that had Brienne averting her gaze, feeling that she was intruding on a moment even more private than the one of hers and Jaime's that had been plastered all over the media. She wasn't really so surprised to discover that Jaime's eyes were already on her, and suddenly she found herself in the midst of a private moment of her own. _Their_ own. Seconds later, she wasn't _at all_ surprised when she felt the touch of his foot against her leg.

She'd never been the sort of person to have private moments with anyone, but now they seemed to just keep happening to her. Until next Sunday, anyway.

"So Jaime put the top down when you drove from the Gold Coast today?" Shae said, as Tyrion disappeared back the way they'd come and Brienne heard a door open and close. It seemed a slightly odd question to ask until Shae almost absently patted her hair, as though ensuring that every single strand was in place.

And then Brienne realised. "Could I use your bathroom?" she asked.

Shae smiled and pointed the way. "The powder room is the second door on the left."

"Thanks. I'll be right back," Brienne said. She didn't quite bolt from the room. She walked, but it was maybe more of a power walk and less of a leisurely stroll, though.

Her first glance at her reflection in the powder room mirror confirmed all her worst fears. Her hair had been blown every which way in the wind during the drive, and there was also a bit more pink in her cheeks than was natural for her, despite all the sunscreen she'd so diligently applied. It put her in mind of her first, shocked look in the mirror after they'd arrived at the resort on Sunday, of how she'd hardly recognised her own reflection thanks to the sunburn—and then of what had followed when she'd returned from the bathroom. 

She'd felt braver then, when it had only been her and Jaime, than she did now, with Tyrion and Shae and the others she had yet to meet all expecting that she talk and be sociable while knowing that they already knew more about her than she did about them. Brienne was better at actions than words, and always had been.

She surveyed her reflection in the mirror. It wasn't as bad as it had been the other day. A bit of windblown hair was much easier to fix than lobster pink skin, thank God. She ran her brush through her hair until it looked more or less properly tamed. Brienne didn't usually bother with any sort of product, but she found a can of hairspray in the cabinet under the sink and applied a bit of that as well. She should probably buy some of her own, since there were likely to be more trips in Jaime's car over the next few days. After that, she applied fresh lip gloss and brushed at her eyebrows, then turned her head to check one side of her face and then the other, just in case a smudge had materialised from somewhere when she wasn't looking.

Eventually, she couldn't draw out the process any longer. She took one last long look at her reflection, gave a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door.

Tyrion was sitting with a small pile of presents wrapped in brightly coloured paper in front of him when Brienne returned to the kitchen. She flashed a smile at everyone in general and no one in particular—not until her gaze settled on Jaime, anyway—and slipped back into her seat.

And then the present exchange began. "From Tyrion to Brienne!" was, surprisingly, the first one. Then, "Brienne to Shae!" and "Shae to Jaime!" and all the other possible permutations and combinations of people present until finally Jaime handed Tyrion a somewhat grubby white envelope—the sort that usually contained a Christmas card—taped down at the back.

"Really?" Tyrion asked. "We're still doing this?"

Jaime shrugged. "You could always forget about it next year."

Tyrion shook his head. "Oh, no. You're not getting away with it that easily. I'm not going to be the one to put an end to it."

Jaime smiled the smile of a victor. "Well then, Happy Christmas, brother," he said.

Tyrion huffed, in a manner that promised retribution, and then turned to his wife. "Why don't you open that one first?" he said, nodding at the box-shaped gift that had come from Jaime. "I'd like to know what my brother chose for you, since I already know what he's given me."

"I'll open that one when I'm ready," Shae said, and started on the main present from Brienne instead. She made all the right noises when the wrapping fell away to reveal the red and gold silk scarf inside. "Just my colours!" she said as she wrapped the scarf loosely around her neck, despite the heat of the day. Of course, the house was air-conditioned; she'd probably take it off again before they walked up the street to the restaurant. Shae was right, though: the scarf exactly suited the loose sleeveless maternity dress in different shades of red that she was wearing.

Brienne glanced over at Tyrion then and found that he had almost finished unwrapping the 'silly' present that she had given him. "You might want to open the other one first," she said quickly. "This one is just a bit of silliness. A sort of tradition in my family. We give- we used to give each other a nonsense sort of present as well as something more… well, _real_, I suppose."

Tyrion grinned then, a mischievous grin that put Brienne very much in mind of his brother. "Oh, no, Brienne. I'm sorry. I have a fairly good idea of what your 'real' present must be, given that it's shaped like a bottle of wine—Jaime helped you pick it out, didn't he?" At Brienne's mute nod, he continued, "But this… I've never received a silly present before. Well, apart from what's in that envelope,"—he nodded towards where it lay still unopened on the island counter beside him—"and I'm sure whatever you have chosen will be far more interesting and inventive." He tore off the wrapping with a flourish, and looked down at the box in his hand. 'Peppermint Choc Dream Latte—10 serves' proclaimed the lettering on the front.

It was Shae who laughed first, while Tyrion continued to stare at the box for a moment, before shooting a piercing glance at Jaime. "Did you have a hand in this?"

Jaime's grin looked to be in real danger of turning into a laugh, but he shook his head and said, "No, this idea was all Brienne's. I just wish I'd thought of giving you a packet of instant lattes myself."

Tyrion eyed Brienne then. "It seems that you and Jaime have more in common than I thought," he said.

Brienne flushed at that. Apart from Tyrion's throwaway remark when they arrived, this was the first real acknowledgement from either Shae or Tyrion that her relationship with Jaime had changed drastically since they had set out together from Casterly Rock three days ago. They alone had seen Brienne and Jaime together before… _before_. 

"Thank you!" Tyrion added, and grinned suddenly. "Though I'm not at all sure that I want to taste it. I might just put it on display… somewhere." 

"I think I know what this is," Shae said, picking up her 'silly' gift from Brienne, which was of course the same size and shape as the one Tyrion had just unwrapped.

Shae seemed much happier with her box of instant lattes than Tyrion had. The flavour of hers was 'Creme Brulee Bliss'. She accepted it with a 'thank you' to Brienne and a sly grin at her husband.

Tyrion's present to Jaime was a kilogram of coffee. "My new special blend," Tyrion explained. "No one else has tried it yet, apart from Shae."

"Maybe I'll try some this afternoon, while you see what that coffee Brienne gave you is like," Jaime said, and while his tone was almost innocent, Brienne could feel the smirk lurking behind it.

Tyrion pointedly ignored him, and started unwrapping the bottle of wine from Brienne instead. "Thank you, Brienne. I'll toast you when I drink it," he said, giving the bottle a fond pat once he'd liberated it from its wrapping.

Brienne went back to unwrapping her present from Tyrion. She was expecting a packet of coffee to match the one that Tyrion had given Jaime, but instead she found… "Tea!"

"I've been told that you prefer tea to coffee," Tyrion said, as if this were somehow incomprehensible but he would indulge her in her wrong-thinking anyway. "This is a white tea from China, one of the famous ones. Bai Hao Yin Zhen or White Hair Silver Needle, if you prefer. It's made from the choicest buds of the leaf shoots of the tea plant, and they claim that there are only a few days each year in which the conditions are just right to hand pick it. In former times, it was a tea reserved for kings—or so they say." 

The little speech didn't sound rehearsed. It was already clear to Brienne that Tyrion was the sort of person who liked knowing details about anything and everything, and liked sharing those details just as much.

She looked at the packet. It was opaque, but just from the feel, she could tell that it was loose tea. It was probably heresy to ask if it also came in teabags. 

"Thank you," she said, mindful of the thought that had gone into the gift, while also boggling just a little at the extravagance of seeking out something so special and no doubt ridiculously expensive that kings were probably the only ones who were once able to afford it, and then having it ready to give to her, someone Tyrion barely knew, in the space of days.

"Oh, and don't use boiling water when you make it. Apparently that's bad."

"It scorches the leaves and makes the tea taste bitter," Brienne said, thinking of how very particular Aunt Lizzie was about the temperature of the water for the green teas she preferred to drink.

"Ah," Tyrion said. Brienne was pretty sure he'd just made a mental note.

"Jaime." That was Shae, her voice so soft that it had Brienne glancing first at her and then at Jaime. She was holding up a camera, a large, professional-looking Nikon.

"I thought you could use it to take some better quality pictures of your coffees for the website. Or maybe you could take pictures of other things until you're… ready to do something else artistic." Jaime said it very matter-of-factly, and maybe that was what stopped Shae from jumping up and hugging him, but the smile she gave him said very clearly that he had chosen the right present.

Brienne slipped her shoe off and lifted her foot to stroke Jaime's shin with her bare heel, mutely communicating the mix of emotions she was feeling right then—warm but impossible to quite identify. It was a very thoughtful present, even if the contrast between the expensive camera Jaime had given Shae and the somewhat worse for wear envelope he'd given his brother could not be starker. Relative price, or any consideration of price at all, was simply not something that ever crossed either Lannister brother's mind, she realised. They were from a world that Brienne could hardly begin to even dream of, however nice they could be when they put their mind to it, or however much they behaved like an almost normal pair of brothers, always trying to get a rise out of each other.

Jaime's hand came to rest on her thigh, then. It was a seemingly unconscious move, as he turned to pick up his wine glass with his other hand, but then his thumb stroked once and then twice before his palm slipped down to clasp her knee, and there could be no mistake about his intent.

"Don't forget Shae's presents," Tyrion reminded them.

The two presents from Shae had ended up on the bottom of the pile. They were a little larger than everything else, rectangular and flat. Jaime's hand left Brienne's knee and she slipped her foot back into her shoe as they unwrapped the final two presents.

"Oh, Shae," Brienne said, as she pushed back the wrapping paper. It was a pencil sketch in a simple black frame, depicting the same stylised sun design that Shae had done as coffee art on Brienne's coffee that first day at Coffee on the Rocks, only this sun was far, _far_ more detailed, all squiggles and curlicues and strong, sure lines. "This is beautiful. You're incredibly talented."

"It still needs a wash to give it more mood," Shae said, "but I ran out of time." 

Tyrion reached out and covered Shae's hand with his own.

"I love it just as it is," Brienne said. "Thank you."

Shae smiled then, happy and uncomplicated, without any of the underlying tension that Brienne couldn't help noticing when she and Jaime had first arrived.

Beside Brienne, Jaime had finished unwrapping his present. He stared down at it for a moment, and then shook his head at Shae, but he was grinning. "You really couldn't have chosen a different subject?" he asked.

"Never!" Shae replied. "You're the golden lion of the Lannisters. That's what the magazine covers keep saying, anyway."

Jaime groaned theatrically, but didn't argue the point.

Brienne looked over at the sketch Shae had done for Jaime. She wasn't surprised to find it was a lion, and like Brienne's sun it was heavily stylised, like a lion out of heraldry, standing upright. A lion rampant, that was what it was called when it was drawn like that, wasn't it?

"It's really remarkably like the one on the Lannister coat of arms," Tyrion said. "Though clearly a far more artistic interpretation," he added, with a smile at Shae.

"Flatterer." Shae flicked her fingers lightly against the side of his head, but the corners of her mouth curved into a small, pleased smile.

And then the gift-giving part of the day was over. The four of them sat there in silence amidst the sea of torn wrapping paper. Only the envelope that Jaime had given Tyrion remained unopened. Brienne took another sip of her drink, and said to no one in particular, "Can I ask what's in the envelope? Or is it a family secret?"

"It's not a secret," Jaime said. "It's just a joke that became sort of a tradition."

Tyrion nodded, and grabbed a knife from a nearby drawer to cut through the tape on the back of the envelope. "About fifteen years ago-"

"_Exactly_ fifteen years ago," Jaime interrupted.

"As I was saying, fifteen _or so_ years ago, Father and Aunt Genna were away in Europe, our sister Cersei was newly married and… actually I don't remember exactly where she was. Not having Christmas with us, anyway." Tyrion sounded relieved. "And so it was just Jaime and me for Christmas that year."

"Your father just left you by yourselves for Christmas?" Brienne asked, wanting to make absolutely sure that she'd heard correctly. Tyrion must have been, what, about fifteen at the time? And Jaime would have been in his early twenties. What sort of parent did something like that?

"You haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting our father, have you? Oh, yes, he's just as charming as you're no doubt imagining. Perhaps even less so," Tyrion said, and drained the remaining wine in his glass before grabbing the bottle and refilling the glass with what was left. "So yes, Jaime and I were left to our own devices over Christmas."

"Tyrion didn't get me a Christmas present," Jaime said, taking up the tale. "All he gave me was a Christmas card with an 'IOU' written on it."

"I really was going to get you something later," Tyrion protested. "I just didn't get around to it until new year, and by then it seemed too late so…"

"So I told him to forget about it, and he could get me a present the following year."

"Except that what he failed to mention was that all he planned to give me the next year was a Christmas card. The _same_ Christmas card that I'd given him. So the year after that I gave it back to him…" Tyrion drained his glass again.

"And ever since they've been exchanging it like some sort of get out of jail free card," Shae finished with a sigh. "Men. They are children sometimes, but what can anyone do?" She gave a little shrug.

"So, there's nothing particularly special about this?" Brienne asked, her curiosity getting the better of her and not feeling quite able to let the whole thing go just yet. "It's just a Christmas card?"

Tyrion removed the card from its envelope and handed it over to Brienne. The design on the front depicted Santa Claus with his familiar red outfit—from the waist up. Below the waist, he was wearing a pair of shorts and standing on a surfboard as he rode a wave. Brienne smiled a little at the sight of it. It was yet another reminder, if she'd needed it, that people did Christmas differently here. She opened the card, and looked inside. The interior was covered in short comments written in two distinct but equally untidy scrawls, sideways, upside down, diagonally, and even one or two the right way up. Most of them said either _To Tyrion, IOU, love Jaime,_ or _To Jaime, IOU, love Tyrion,_ but the one in the middle, which must have been the very first one, said, _Dear Jaime, you're the only one who cares, IOU a Xmas present, love Tyrion._

Brienne blinked quickly, to disguise the sudden prick of tears at her eyes, and handed the card back to Tyrion. "That's quite a tradition," she said, for lack of any better words that came to mind right then.

But a moment later it was Brienne's hand that sought out Jaime's knee, and his hand that covered hers.

Elsewhere in the house, a clock started striking the hour.

"Midday already," Tyrion said, slipping down off his stool. "Time to make a move. Yara warned me that she wouldn't delay the first course if we were late—and her cooking is _not_ something you want to miss out on."

Shae got up as well, and Jaime and Brienne followed them. Jaime looked down at Brienne's hand, still tightly clasped in his, and back up at her face, a question in his eyes. In answer, Brienne squeezed his hand and didn't let go. This time she'd made the choice, and she didn't care who saw.

They walked out into the sunshine together hand in hand, and for the first time in a long time, Brienne didn't want to hide anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I was optimistic in thinking this story could be completed in three chapters. There will be one more.
> 
> Also, I borrowed the image of the surfing santa on the Christmas card from this Australian Christmas stamp:
> 
>   



	4. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas lunch at Kelp - and after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nire, slipsthrufingers and firesign for their help in getting this chapter sorted out.
> 
> Note for American readers:
> 
> In Australia, the first course is called the entree and the second course is called the main course. Just thought I'd better mention that to avoid any confusion!

Christmas lunch at Kelp was unlike any Christmas dinner Brienne had ever experienced, and not only because the air-conditioning was working overtime to compensate for the 35* degree heat outside.

There was no turkey, for a start. Considering its name, it was no real surprise that Kelp turned out to be a seafood restaurant, but Brienne got the distinct impression that a turkey with all the trimmings would not have been on the menu even if they'd dined elsewhere. And no one was wearing an outrageously ugly Christmas jumper, naturally, though the chef's brother, Theon, had on a black t-shirt of questionable taste. It said: "May I suggest the sausage?" in large white letters at the top, with a picture of a hand beneath, the index finger pointing south.

Beside Brienne, Theon's girlfriend, Sansa, shivered a little, and chafed at her arms.

"Are you cold?" Brienne asked.

Sansa smiled slightly ruefully. "Just a bit. I'm from FNQ," she said, as if this explained things.

"FNQ?" Brienne asked.

"Oh, sorry. You wouldn't know. Far North Queensland," Sansa explained. "The actual North. The tropics."

"That type of climate must have been a bit of a challenge, with this sort of colouring." Brienne moved her arm so that it was lying parallel with Sansa's; their skin tones were almost identical. Brienne wondered how Sansa had managed to avoid the sorts of freckles that Brienne had always had to contend with. Sansa's pale skin and deep red hair made for a striking combination, but it must have been hell trying to keep out of the worst of the sun living in a tropical climate.

"Yeah, it was. It's easier living here. Well, a bit." Sansa smiled again, and then Theon—who had been in and out of his seat snatching a few bites before he was wanted again in the kitchen—came up behind Sansa and touched her shoulder to get her attention. After a few words were exchanged, Sansa got up and followed Theon back to the kitchen.

"I worry about that girl," Shae muttered from her seat directly across the table from Brienne, watching Sansa disappear through the kitchen doors.

"She seems nice," Brienne said, as carefully as she could.

"Too nice. She could do far better than Theon," Shae said.

Brienne was inclined to agree, although to be fair, her impression of Theon had been formed largely on the basis of the t-shirt he was wearing. She nodded, and turned her attention back to her plate.

The entree that Yara had prepared consisted of a little of several sorts of different seafoods. The presentation was quite pretty, on a small rectangular plate with a deep blue glaze that reminded Brienne of the ocean on a sunny day, but none of the elements on the plate—a tasting plate was what Yara had called it—looked particularly unusual. In the middle, there were five oysters in the shell artfully set out in the shape of a star, plus a small pile of large and luscious-looking prawns with the tails still attached, half a dozen very thin slices of some sort of fish with pale pink flesh, and a number of little bowls on the side, containing dipping sauces. And those sauces were what elevated the dish from something that Brienne could easily have prepared in her kitchen at home to something that Tyrion had been right in saying they wouldn't want to miss. Brienne wasn't sure what was in any of those sauces, except that the red one was so strong, without being mouth-burningly hot, that she only needed the slightest smear of it to give the fish all the flavour it needed, while the white one was a sort of mayonnaise, but lighter and smoother and tastier than any mayonnaise she'd ever bought at the supermarket. There was also a black dipping sauce that looked like soy and tasted quite salty, but seemed to have a suggestion of aniseed in it as well. Such a combination shouldn't have worked, and yet somehow the chef had achieved just the right balance between the competing flavours to make the sauce memorable in a good way.

Brienne wondered what Yara Greyjoy was doing, wasting her talents here. Oh, the restaurant was nice enough in its way, all minimalist modern decor with clean lines and lots of white to try to make it seem more spacious, but it was still undeniably small and it was in Casterly Rock. Like Coffee on the Rocks next door, it was the sort of place that belonged in Byron Bay, at the very least.

"What do you think of the food?" Jaime asked as he slipped back into his chair beside Brienne, a new bottle of champagne in his hand. A case of French champagne had been Jaime's—and by association, Brienne's—contribution to the lunch.

"It's great," Brienne said simply, and then lowered her voice a little, even though the other four chairs at the table were vacant while the Greyjoys attended to whatever was going on in the kitchen. "Why is Yara running a restaurant here when she should be cooking somewhere where there are enough people to properly appreciate her skills?"

"She owns a restaurant in Brisbane as well," Jaime said, popping the cork and then topping up the champagne in Brienne's glass as well as his own and Tyrion's, while Shae sipped her glass of sparkling apple juice. "Kelp is only open a couple of nights a week. The rest of the time, Yara's up there."

"But why have a restaurant in Casterly Rock at all?" Brienne asked.

Jaime shrugged. "This is her home. The Greyjoys have lived along this bit of the coast nearly as long as the Lannisters have. To be honest, I think it's mostly that keeping this place open gives her brother something to do. Plus, I suspect that she likes using the people of Casterly Rock as her guinea pigs before unleashing her new dishes at the main restaurant in the city."

"And I for one have no complaints about being a guinea pig," Tyrion interjected from the other side of the table. "Well, not in this case, anyway."

Brienne speared her last remaining prawn with her fork and dipped it in the mayonnaise. She had no complaints, either.

A minute or two later, the kitchen door opened, and a tall, dark-haired woman emerged. When Shae had told Brienne that Yara Greyjoy's partner was a widow, Brienne had pictured a woman in her middle years, maybe filling out a little here and there, and with a grey hair or two, and… well, whatever else she'd envisaged, Ellaria Sand was most definitely not it. She was middle-aged only in the sense that, given the ages of the daughters she'd mentioned in passing, she had to be at least forty years old. She wasn't precisely beautiful, but she was striking, with her long, dark hair, elegant dress sense and that way she had of holding herself like a queen. There was something about her features that said South Asia to Brienne—but also something else that did not. She could have been from just about anywhere, and when she'd been introduced to Brienne earlier, the mid-Atlantic accent with which she spoke had seemed entirely appropriate.

It was the way she looked at Brienne—and, well, everyone else present—that was not quite appropriate. Her expression was appraising, somehow, and bold as she looked each person straight in the eye. Brienne didn't quite know what to make of her, except that there was something about her that was slightly unsettling.

"Yara has the main courses almost ready to serve, so I trust everyone is almost done with their entrees," she… well, not quite _said_. It came out a little like a purr, with lots of rolling Rs. She resumed her seat beside Shae, as the kitchen doors opened again and Sansa—who worked at the restaurant as a waitress—came out to collect the entree plates and make sure everyone had the right cutlery for the main course. Almost as soon as she'd disappeared into the kitchen with the used plates, she was back again, bearing two huge, white dinner plates on each arm this time, and closely followed by Theon, and Yara Greyjoy herself, carrying the other four plates.

Yara looked much more down to earth than Ellaria, particularly once she took off her chef's whites and revealed her very ordinary green t-shirt underneath. Matching the t-shirt with a pair of long, khaki shorts, she looked much, much more casual than Brienne would expect of a high profile chef hosting Christmas dinner. There was a hardness about her face, though, even in repose, that warned that she was not someone to be messed with. She would have seemed dour, if not for the glint of humour that was rarely absent from her eye.

Once everyone was seated at the long table, Yara instructed them all to charge their glasses—Jaime made sure of that. Brienne thought that in another life he'd have probably made a good wine waiter—she proposed the toast, and they all wished one another a Merry Christmas before they drank.

The bubbles from the champagne fizzed straight up Brienne's nose and she half-sneezed, half-snorted before reaching for her bag and the small packet of tissues she kept there. But Jaime was already holding out a handkerchief in front of her, which Brienne took gratefully and blew into, even while she wondered _why_ he carried a handkerchief, and what appeared to be a silk one at that. Did anyone under the age of sixty still use handkerchiefs? Jaime was older than her, but not _that_ much older.

"Keep it," he said, nodding at the handkerchief, once she'd recovered from the effects of the champagne.

"I'll get it cleaned," she promised.

He smiled at her then, and she smiled back, and maybe they would have just sat there staring at each other and smiling like a couple of idiots for who knows how long if Tyrion hadn't made some pointed comment that broke the spell. Brienne wasn't sure what he'd said—all she took in was the voice and the tone—but she hurriedly glanced down at her plate, and then a smile touched her lips again as she felt Jaime's foot cover hers beneath the table.

Just for a moment, Brienne wished that they were back in the apartment on the Gold Coast, or in the suite at the resort at Byron Bay, or even just in the back of the SUV as Bronn drove them somewhere. Anywhere where she was free to lay her head on Jaime's shoulder, to press her lips against his skin while she breathed in the smell of him and...

She forced her attention back to her lunch. The main course turned out to be another tasting plate, but a much larger and more elaborate one than the entree had been. Beside a small moulded mound of saffron rice was a colourful and fragrant _something_, which proved to be a fish curry, its flavour rich with a combination of spices that Brienne was pretty sure she'd never encountered before. There was fish steamed _en papillote_, too. The smell of buttery lemon and garlic wafted up as Brienne opened the little parchment parcel that the piece of fish had been cooked in. Beside it was a prawn and mango salad, its sweetness balanced out with a touch of bitter curly endive. There was also the tail of a Moreton Bay bug accompanied by a creamy seafood sauce, which Brienne recognised at once and ate calmly, happy not to have to play the clueless tourist in front of these pleasant people who were, nonetheless, all but unknown to her. And then there were plates of green beans and bok choy with oyster sauce passed around, and roasted waxy kipfler potatoes, cut small and covered in rosemary and thyme and plenty of salt.

None of the food was as heavy as the battered cod and chunky, greasy chips that Brienne got from her local chippie at home, together with the obligatory little container of mushy peas, but long before she'd come close to clearing her plate, she was starting to feel, well, _full_. The meal had taken on that lazy, relaxed most-of-the-way-through-Christmas-dinner feeling by then. That, at least, was familiar. There were snatches of conversation and laughter here and there around the table as everyone sipped their champagne—or sparkling apple juice—and sent their compliments to the chef.

Eventually, Sansa and Theon cleared the table and brought out bowls and spoons, but the champagne continued to flow and lubricate the conversation until, maybe half an hour later, Yara got up from her seat and returned with a large platter covered in a silver cloche. She set it down in the centre of the table and whisked the covering off with theatrical flair. Underneath was possibly the largest Christmas pudding Brienne had ever seen. It was simply enormous, but there could be no doubt of what it was. Something in her chest clenched as she looked at it. She'd tried really hard not to think of her dad too much today, but seeing that plum pudding, full of dried fruit and spices—and probably a few little special touches known only to Yara—all Brienne could think of was sitting around the table at home on Christmas Day with Dad and various members of the extended Tarth family. And yes, even Aunt Lizzie.

"I thought you didn't do traditional Christmas dinner here," she said quietly to Jaime.

"We used to, when I was a kid, the whole huge, heavy hot dinner in the middle of the day sort of thing. But it just doesn't make sense in the middle of summer and in this climate, so people generally don't bother with most of the traditional food these days," Jaime replied. Then he raised his voice a little and added, "But Christmas isn't Christmas without setting fire to the Christmas pudding!"

There was scattered laughter around the table then, but Jaime's eyes were still on Brienne. And yes, she thought, he really could read her _very_ well.

Theon emerged from the kitchen, carrying a small saucepan and a ladle, which he handed to his sister. That would be the brandy, Brienne knew. He must have already heated it. Yara doused the Christmas pudding liberally with several ladles of brandy, and then Ellaria rose to her feet, lit a match and touched it to the side of the pudding, which was immediately enveloped in blue flame.

Beneath the table, Jaime's foot stroked Brienne's shin gently as everyone applauded.

The flames had subsided by the time Sansa came out of the kitchen with what looked to be custard, and soon everyone had been served Christmas pudding with what proved to be Yara Greyjoy's special brandy custard sauce.

It didn't taste like the Christmas pudding that her dad used to make to Granny Tarth's family recipe every year. Brienne knew that this one, made by a skilled professional chef, was probably objectively better—but there was never any aspect of Christmas that was truly objective. At least, not for her. The day would always be infused with memories.

Next year, this Christmas would be a memory. A sweet one. A special one. And one not to be repeated.

~*~

Once the Christmas pudding had been consumed, and the glasses of champagne drained for the last time, Tyrion, as promised, provided coffee for everyone to round out the meal next door at Coffee on the Rocks,

Or, at least, the Lannisters—and one Tarth—provided the coffee. The four of them left Kelp a little ahead of the others, after Tyrion had taken a coffee order from everyone. It was soon pretty clear to Brienne that Tyrion had consumed maybe a little more champagne than was strictly wise for someone planning to operate… well, not _heavy_ machinery, but still machinery. He'd had more of that bottle of wine he'd opened earlier than either Jaime or Brienne, too.

And then Jaime took charge, in a manner that both surprised and impressed Brienne. He didn't do it in an obvious way, but just quietly made things happen. She hadn't really thought much about exactly what he did in his high-powered job at Lannistercorp, but watching him then, she was sure that his work involved strategy and organising things. And leadership. He was a good leader—well, that, and a good brother, she amended to herself, glancing over at where Tyrion sat at a table in the corner. The fact that Jaime had been able to persuade him with minimal fuss to step out of the way said a lot about Jaime's ability to manage people, and also about how much he cared for his brother—if there could have been any doubt about that after seeing that Christmas card earlier.

Once Jaime had sorted out Tyrion, he asked Brienne to go and get him a large glass of water. By the time she'd returned with it, and set it down in front of Tyrion, Jaime was laying out everything he needed on the counter by the espresso machine, while Shae perched on a stool nearby and offered advice as he went. By the time the Greyjoys—plus one Sand and one Stark—wandered in a few minutes later, Jaime had everything under control: he made the coffees, Shae did the coffee art on top, and then Brienne delivered them to the tables.

"I wasn't sure that you knew how to work that thing properly," Brienne said, nodding towards the espresso machine when at last she and Jaime were seated at one of the small, round tables, sipping their own coffees. Brienne's latte featured the sun design that Shae seemed to have decided was her symbol, while Jaime's coffee was a macchiato. Brienne couldn't help wondering if he'd chosen that sort of coffee at least partly because there wasn't really enough foam on top to allow for any sort of detailed coffee art.

"Of course I can use it. Did you think that Tyrion would have left me in charge of the place the other day if I didn't know how to make coffee?"

"I suppose it depends on whether he thought there were likely to be any customers."

"There was a customer. You," Jaime pointed out.

"Yes, but I was an acciden-" Brienne stopped, and looked around, and realised. "We're sitting at the same table. I was sitting in this chair the first time I heard your voice, and then you came out from the back room. And there you were."

"A possible Hemsworth." One corner of Jaime's mouth curved up into a lop-sided little smile, and Brienne knew that choosing to sit at this table hadn't been any sort of accident. As she watched, he set down his empty coffee cup and that smile turned into something else, a full smile, and one full of promise. "Finish your coffee and let's get out of here," he said, and his voice was different too. Lower. Huskier. "I'll take you for a walk on the beach."

There were a lot of responses that Brienne could have made to that, but there was only one that she really felt like making, so she smiled and said, "Okay," and got through the rest of her coffee in something close to record time.

It took them a little longer than intended to actually get out of there, because they had to stop and say goodbye to everyone, and thank Yara for providing such a memorable Christmas meal, and also to tell Tyrion and Shae that they'd meet them back at home.

Opening the front door of the coffee shop was a bit like opening an oven door, except that on this occasion they were walking into the oven. The sun was blazing down, even stronger and hotter than before, and the air itself felt as if it was made of heat. They kept in the shade as much as they could, beneath shop awnings and the plane trees planted at intervals along the street, until they made it as far as Tyrion's house. Jaime popped open the boot of the Aston Martin and retrieved a huge red and gold golfing umbrella, which he gave to Brienne to use as a parasol. She felt slightly silly walking down the street under it, so she took Jaime by the arm and pulled him under as well. They could look silly together _and_ keep out of the worst of the sun.

It was a relief to be alone together again, to be away from that group of people—even from Tyrion and Shae. Everyone had been nice, friendly and even kind to Brienne. No one had mentioned the picture in the paper, nor given so much as a hint that they'd ever heard anything about her before, except from Shae and Tyrion.

But it was still a relief to be away from there.

Brienne and Jaime walked in companionable silence until they reached the row of pine trees that lined the edge of the beach. A well-worn dirt path wended its way beneath the trees. Beyond were some low sand dunes covered in the same sort of sparse, scrappy grass that Brienne remembered from the beachfront at Byron Bay.

As they stopped under the trees to take off their shoes, Jaime said, "We used to come up here for the Christmas holidays every year for as far back as I can remember. I used to swim in the surf every day."

"Even on Christmas Day?" Brienne asked.

"Of course!" Jaime said, but there was something a little forced about his smile. "My mum… My mother always worried that we'd sink to the bottom if we went swimming too soon after having a huge Christmas lunch."

Brienne slipped her hand into his and felt his fingers curl in against her palm. "But you went swimming anyway."

"My father always said that was an old wives' tale and we'd be fine. So we went. That was before my mum died. After that… we just went anyway. I don't think my father…"

Brienne squeezed his hand. She knew only too well how much pain Christmas Day could bring with it. It was a family day, but when your family was fractured and parents gone… "I think _my_ father would have liked that you've made sure I wasn't alone at Christmas. And that you made sure it was—that it _is_—a good one."

"I'm glad," Jaime said, "but somehow I don't think your father would have liked some of the other things I've done. Like taking you to bed about an hour after we met."

Once, Brienne would have blushed at that, but now she just shook her head. "I kissed you first," she reminded Jaime. "Besides, my dad never would have said anything like that, and not just because I never provided him with the opportunity."

"I'm glad about that too, then," Jaime said, but he didn't look convinced.

"He wasn't a hypocrite," Brienne explained. "He had a lot of girlfriends over the years, lots of relationships that started quickly, but none of them lasted very long. I told you my mum died when I was really young. I don't think he ever stopped missing her."

"God," Jaime said, his eyes wide. He looked slightly appalled.

"What?" Brienne asked, tensing a little.

"I just tried and totally failed to imagine _my_ father with any sort of girlfriend." He put a hand to his mouth, covering what sounded like half a cough, half a horrified laugh.

"He doesn't sound very warm, from what you've said."

Jaime did laugh then, a short sharp bark of a sound without any amusement in it. "That's the understatement of the century, particularly this last year."

"Oh?" Brienne asked, and then she added quickly, "You don't have to tell me."

Jaime shook his head. "It's not a secret. Father objected to the idea of Tyrion marrying Shae. He objected _loudly_, and in detail. As I told you before, they haven't spoken since. I think they're probably both relieved about it, on a certain level. They never got on. Never. But…"

"They're both your family and it's Christmas," Brienne finished for him. She squeezed his hand again. "And now here you are again at the beach on Christmas Day. Are you planning to go for a swim?"

Jaime seemed grateful to be asked the question—a question that had an easy answer. "Maybe later. Right now I want to walk. With you."

"Then let's walk."

And so they picked up their shoes, Brienne popped up the umbrella again, and they walked—or at least, they intended to. The searing heat of the sand was an unwelcome surprise beneath Brienne's feet as soon as she stepped off the path and onto the beach.

"Quick! Over to the water!" Jaime said, and Brienne wasn't about to argue.

They ran across the sand together, not letting their feet stay in one spot long enough to burn, and Brienne felt even more relieved than when they'd left the cafe when they reached the sea strand and she felt wet sand beneath her feet. A tiny wavelet raced up the sand and washed over her toes, cool and refreshing, before the water drained just as quickly back into the sea. The beach was all but deserted apart from the two of them. Brienne could see only one small group of people down the far end of the beach, near the rocky, sea-carved headland that had given the little town part of its name.

And so they walked, turning and making for the headland at the other end of the beach. It was as if they were the only two people in the world, back in the safe, intimate little bubble they'd existed in for most of the time since they met.

"It hasn't changed," Jaime said at one point, as he stopped and turned to look back the way they'd come. "It's exactly the same as it's always been. Just about the only thing in my life that is." He looked out across the waves for a moment, and Brienne knew that while he was in the here, he wasn't in the now. Then he turned to her, took her face in his hands, and said, "But the company's much better now. The best it's ever been."

Brienne smiled, because how could she do anything else when Jaime said things like _that_? "Thank you for a far better Christmas Day than I had any right to expect. It's been unlike any other Christmas I've ever had, but it's been good. So very…"

The umbrella dropped to the sand, unheeded, as the world—the universe—condensed to just the two of them, the touch of his fingers against her cheeks, the sound of their deep breaths, and the feel of his mouth on hers as their lips met once, and again, and then again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *35 degrees Celsius = 95 degrees Fahrenheit 
> 
> Theon's t-shirt is real. Just google it if you want to see.
> 
> And yes, this is still not the end. My planned Chapter 4 wound up being enormous, so there will now be a Chapter 5, which is almost done and should be posted in a day or two.


	5. Brienne and Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from some unexpected guests - and its aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nire and slipsthrufingers for their help with this chapter, and especially to firesign for helping me work out how to rework something that was fairly important.

There was a tap standing all alone by the path, as if it had been absently placed there under the trees instead of by someone's front lawn where it belonged. Brienne hadn't noticed it on the way down, but she was glad of it on the way back, as she washed off the sand and then wiped her feet dry on what grass there was before putting her sandals back on.

She caught Jaime watching her as she straightened up after turning off the tap. The expression on his face was fond—very fond—and… something. Brienne wasn't sure what that something was, except that it wasn't bad. No, whatever it was, it was a good thing. She looked away, feeling absurdly shy, and only met Jaime's eyes again once he took her hand and together they started walking back up the path to the street, and Tyrion's house.

It turned out that Tyrion and Shae had arrived back before them.

"Just the brother I was hoping to see," Tyrion said, as he opened the door to them, but quietly, before adding, "Shae's gone upstairs to rest for a bit."

It hadn't been all that long since last they'd seen him, but to Brienne's surprise, Tyrion appeared to be completely sober. She guessed that he must have a constitution of iron—or quite the drinking habit.

"Do you have any other brothers you were expecting to see today?" Jaime enquired in a low voice, eyebrows raised.

"None as far as I know," Tyrion admitted. "But still, you're the one I want. Come out onto the deck with me and see if you can help me work out how to operate the new barbecue I bought the other day. It has about a thousand different settings."

"What makes you think I'll have any better idea than you how to work the thing?" Jaime asked, but he came along anyway as Tyrion led the way to the back door.

"Just humour me," Tyrion said. He held up a hand, looking faintly apologetic, as Brienne went to follow them outside. "Just Jaime this time, Brienne, if you don't mind. I promise I won't keep him long. Please get a drink and help yourself to anything else you might want."

And then the door closed behind them, and Brienne found herself standing alone in the middle of Tyrion's house, wondering what just happened. Well, not really wondering. It was obvious that Tyrion wanted a private word with his brother, and it appeared that he'd never heard of subtlety. With nothing else to do, Brienne did as Tyrion had suggested and made her way to the kitchen. The refrigerator was an enormous double-doored stainless steel thing, and proved to contain half a dozen bottles of white wine, several different kinds of juice, bottles of soda water and tonic water, cans of soft drink, and a three litre container of milk. Brienne ignored all of those and instead chose the large plastic water filter jug sitting in the fridge door. After a brief search for the cabinet where the glasses were kept, she poured herself a tall glass of chilled water.

She downed about half of it in one go, exactly what she needed right then after walking along the beach in the heat, but just as she was about to sit down and sip the rest with at least a little more restraint—she could hear Aunt Lizzie's tones as she thought that—the doorbell rang. Brienne looked around. She could see Jaime through the glass window in the back door, clearly still engaged in conversation with Tyrion. The doorbell rang again, and Brienne's thoughts turned to Shae, upstairs. She shouldn't be disturbed. There was only one thing for it. Brienne set down her glass on the kitchen counter and made her way to the front door.

She opened it to find an older man and a woman standing there. The man was in the act of leaning forward to press the doorbell for the third time. He was clearly aged somewhere in his sixties, but he still stood tall and straight, his long face sombre beneath a Panama hat with a deep red band. The implacable look in his eyes—his familiar _green_ eyes—was that of a man used to getting what he wanted.

"Tywin Lannister. I believe my son lives here," he said.

When Brienne did not immediately respond, he took off his hat and handed it to her. Brienne didn't take it, and she didn't get out of the way, either. Jaime hadn't told her a lot about Tywin Lannister, but what little he'd let slip had provided Brienne with enough to draw her own conclusions. Plus, the things he'd said about his father while they were walking along the beach were fresh in her mind, particularly the bit about Tyrion not having spoken to him in more than a year because of Shae.

"Move aside," Tywin Lannister said then. It was issued as a command. "I intend to see my son. _Now_."

Brienne didn't move. "No," she said, infusing the single syllable with as much determination as she possibly could—and determination was something she possessed in abundance.

"Oh," the woman said, stepping forward. Her voice was low and beautifully modulated. "I don't think she's the hired help, Father. Look how tall she is. This must be the… woman who was pictured with Jaime on the front page of the paper yesterday."

Brienne spared her a glance. So this was Jaime's sister. His twin. She was as beautiful as Jaime, but hers were not the almost unconscious good looks that he wore so casually and easily. Cersei Lannister was a picture of feminine perfection—at least in the way that the media tended to judge such things—and everything about her betrayed just how aware she was of the image she presented. Her make-up was flawless—just a touch more than was required for a 'natural' look—her golden hair was so long and so straight that a hairdresser must have worked on it for the best part of half an hour to achieve that sort of effect, and as for her clothes… She looked a million dollars, and at least $900,000 of that million must have been spent on what she was wearing.

She was dressed in a… not a dress, exactly, but not a top and trousers, either. The garment was mainly white, with touches of gold here and there, and all in one piece, the bottom section falling in elegant lines like a skirt, but as Cersei took another step closer it swirled around her legs and Brienne realised that it was split down the middle into two sections, like very widely cut trousers. On anyone else, Brienne might have been tempted to call them clown pants. But the garment was so perfectly fitted, obviously custom-made for its wearer, and the cut and fabric were both used with such _intent_ and to such effect, that it was clear that it must be the work of a high end designer. And compared to what Brienne was wearing… well, there was no comparison. All at once, the blue-green dress that Brienne had been so pleased with when she'd tried it on in the store the other night looked what it was: a cheap, off-the-rack dress from a chain clothing store. It was so ordinary that Jaime's father and sister had looked at her, standing there wearing it, and assumed she was the maid.

Tywin Lannister chose that moment to try to push past Brienne and into the house, drawing back her full attention. She folded her arms and stood her ground—something she was very good at. Brienne was a six foot three archaeologist who worked out three times a week, and she was a good forty years younger than Jaime's father. He pushed, hard, and more than once, trying to force his way between her and the doorframe, but at the end of it all Brienne was still standing in the doorway, and Tywin and Cersei Lannister were still outside on the doorstep.

"Goodness, she's built like a brick sh- wall," Cersei said, her green eyes, so like Jaime's, wide with disingenuous surprise. "Not Jaime's usual taste at all."

Brienne ignored her. "I don't believe your presence here is welcome, Mr Lannister. However, if you'll wait, I'll check with Tyrion before asking you to leave." Her voice was as steady and unyielding as she could possibly make it.

Tywin Lannister's eyes widened in icy, outraged surprise. That was the last thing Brienne saw before she shut the door in his face.

She leaned back against the closed door, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself and let out some of the tension that she hadn't dared let Tywin Lannister see. She'd wondered what sort of a man would abandon a fifteen-year-old boy at Christmas, with only his older brother for company—and now she knew.

She also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the 'IOU' had not been the important word that the Lannister brothers had exchanged on that Christmas card year after year. They'd given their love, one to the other, and turned it into a joke to keep it safe from a father who didn't know the meaning of the word.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she dashed them away before she went to find Jaime and Tyrion.

~*~

"You used to be more subtle than that," Jaime said as he leaned back against the railing that ran the length of the deck. "_Please Jaime, I'm so incompetent that I need help working out how to use the barbecue controls_. You could just as well have said that you wanted to talk to me alone."

Tyrion sent him a long, unamused look. "I'm perfectly capable of being subtle. With most people. But I don't know if you've noticed what you're like when you and Brienne are in the same room."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Jaime asked. He was already tired of this conversation and it hadn't even really started yet.

"You're very… together."

"And I still don't know what else I can say except 'what's that supposed to mean?'"

"It means that if I'd tried to subtly draw you away for a few private words, you would have brought Brienne with you, without even thinking about it, and probably holding hands the whole time."

"And would that have been so bad?" Jaime asked. Sometimes his little brother could be incredibly irritating.

Tyrion huffed. He sounded irritated too. "I _know_ you're not that obtuse. You know I want to talk to you about Brienne. You texted me and said you'd explain when you saw me in person. Remember?"

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember." He looked out over the backyard, which consisted of a swimming pool and not much else. It was hot out here, even in the shade. A post-Christmas dinner dip was seeming like a better idea every moment.

"Well?" Tyrion asked sharply. "What's going on?" he added, lowering his voice and obviously striving for a more moderate tone. He even bared his teeth in something that might have been meant to be a smile.

"Brienne and I, we're…" Jaime shrugged. "We're spending the week together."

"Yes, I noticed that much." They could have invented the word 'sardonic' for the look on Tyrion's face right then. "Then what?"

"Then we say goodbye and Brienne goes home. She's got a plane ticket that will take her back to the UK on Sunday."

"And… you're fine with her just leaving then, and ending it?"

Jaime looked out across the pool again. There were palm trees on either side of it, and some fronds had fallen into the water at the far end. "No, I'm not fine with that. I want her to stay longer. I want us to work out…" He made an impatient noise, and turned back to face his brother. "It doesn't feel the same as with anyone else, Tyrion. Not _anyone_."

Tyrion looked back at him. The smile on his face was very slight, but it was a real one this time.

"Aren't you going to say that it's only been three days?" Jaime demanded, when Tyrion kept not saying anything.

"No, actually," Tyrion said. "It reminds me of when I met Shae. We-" He stopped mid-sentence, turning quickly as the back door opened behind them.

Brienne stood in the doorway, and to Jaime's surprise—and perhaps very slight annoyance—she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at his brother.

"Tyrion, you have some unexpected guests," she said, her expression very grave, but with a flash of something else—something like anger—in her eyes "Your father and sister are here." She held up a hand as Tyrion opened his mouth to speak. "I've left them standing at the front door. If you don't want to see them, just say the word and I'll tell them to go."

"No, you don't need to do that," Jaime said, pushing himself up off the railing he'd been leaning against. "I'll talk to them. What do you want to do, Tyrion?"

"I _want_ to kick them out, or have my two strapping henchpersons do it, anyway," he said, looking from Jaime to Brienne. "But if I don't talk to them, or at least to Father, I'll wonder what it's all about—and no doubt some aspect of it will come as a nasty little surprise further down the track. Bring them into the living room." He turned to Brienne. "Brienne, could you go upstairs and tell… I mean _request_ that Shae stays up there until our unexpected visitors have departed?”

_Request?_ That was a new one for Tyrion.

“This shouldn't take too long, but I suspect that it's something that Shae definitely doesn't need to hear, whatever it is,” Tyrion finished.

Brienne nodded. "Of course."

Jaime followed Brienne back inside, reaching out to brush his fingers across the back of her hand.

She whirled around to face him. “What?” she asked. She sounded...curt. She was bristling with the same sort of righteous anger and outrage that Jaime remembered from the first time he set eyes on her. Now, as then, she was magnificent.

“Nothing,” Jaime said. “Just…” He never seemed to be able to find quite the right words with Brienne. Not when he most needed them. He reached up and cupped her cheek, touching his lips softly to hers.

Behind them, Tyrion cleared his throat loudly.

"I'll come up and get you when they're gone," Jaime told Brienne.

"All right," she said, not so curt this time. Not curt at all. Her voice was soft, so soft, though there was still a tension in her that boded badly for anyone who got on the wrong side of her.

_Me_, Jaime thought. _That softness is for me._ And the rest of it? Well, Father had always had a way of bringing out strong reactions in people, but never anything soft.

He watched as Brienne ascended the stairs, until she reached the top and was right out of sight. Then he turned his attention to the front door—which was closed. Brienne had shut the door on Father and Cersei, and left them waiting outside? Jaime wanted to laugh. He was sure that that must have been the first time in his life that anyone had done that to Tywin Lannister.

He didn't laugh, though. Instead, he let the familiar mask settle on his features, the mocking little smile that he used as both weapon and shield, and then he stepped forward and opened the front door.

Father looked about ready to explode, though maybe it was partly just the heat turning his usually colourless cheeks to a shade not all that far removed from the crimson field on the family coat of arms. Beside him, Cersei looked… like Cersei. His twin, the person out of everyone in the world to whom he'd once been closest, but who now looked like an overdressed stranger.

"Ah, so your brother has come to his senses," Father said, his icy tone almost comically at odds with the heat in his face.

But Jaime didn't feel like laughing any longer.

"I wouldn't quite go that far," he said, stepping to one side to allow the two of them to enter. Father walked straight past him without another glance, but Cersei stopped long enough to make sure that Jaime properly took in her unspoken but very obvious displeasure. He hadn't seen her in months, not since… new year, it had to be. Almost an entire year. Once, he couldn't have imagined being apart from her for even an entire day. They'd been so close—maybe too close—before Father sent him away to boarding school. He'd only seen Cersei in the holidays, after that, until they were both finally done with school. When he'd come home for good, he'd found a stranger in the place where his sister used to be, and she was a stranger still.

"Tyrion," Father was saying, as Jaime and Cersei followed him into the main living area, where Tyrion waited, ensconced in a high-backed, bright green modernist armchair. It was the antithesis of the Chesterfield armchairs that his father favoured at the family home.

Tyrion didn't make any move to get up, a discourtesy to guests that once would have earned him—or any of them—a swift rap over the knuckles. But they weren't children any more, and this was not their father's house.

"Father. Cersei." Tyrion gave them both the briefest of nods as everyone sat.

No one wished anyone a happy Christmas. It would hardly have been sincere. There was never anything happy about a gathering of Lannisters, particularly not when one of those Lannisters was their father.

"To what do I owe the… this visit?" Tyrion enquired.

"We're your family and it's Christmas Day," Father said.

"And yet I'm none the wiser," Tyrion said.

"You weren't at home earlier," Father said, as if this provided any more explanation. He awarded Tyrion a long, unnerving look.

"Yara Greyjoy hosted Christmas dinner in her-"

"You celebrated Christmas with _those pirates_?" Father shook his head, as if with that act alone Tyrion had finally gone beyond the pale—or further beyond the pale anyway.

"They haven't been pirates in well over a century—if they ever really were."

"Oh, they were," Father said with such finality that the room fell silent. It wasn't a calm or peaceful silence. "I believe congratulations are in order," he added, abruptly changing the topic of conversation—or simply wasting no more time in getting to the point of why he'd come here at all.

"Somewhat belated. The wedding was over a year ago," Tyrion pointed out, steepling his fingers in front of him and not taking his eyes off Father.

Father's expression grew stonier, if that was even possible. "I'm not here to talk about your marriage, however unfortunate your choice of bride might have been. What's done is done. I'm here to talk about the future. My expected grandchild."

Tyrion's expression had in no way been soft before, but now it went hard—harder even than Father's. Tyrion didn't ask how Father knew, though. Neither did Jaime. Father had a way of finding things out, from sources both reputable and otherwise. They had all learned long ago that it was best not to ask too many questions about how he found anything out. Father always _knew_, and that was all that mattered.

"_My_ child," Tyrion said. "Mine and Shae's. They won't need anything more than the love and care they'll receive from us."

"Nonsense. He'll be a Lannister. My only grandson."

"You already have a grandson, Father," Cersei reminded him sharply. "Tommen turned ten last month. You sent him a birthday present."

"A _Lannister_ grandson," Father said.

It was obvious that Tyrion wanted to ask how Father had found out not only about the baby's existence but its gender. The question was there on his face, so plain that it could have been written in words. But he didn't ask. Father _knew_, and it wasn't worth wasting breath on the question of how. But what Father planned to do with that knowledge… that was another question entirely.

"_Our_ child," Tyrion said, "who won't be having anything to do with you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Father said. "He won't be just any child. He'll be my grandson, the only one with the Lannister name that I'm likely to have. I believe that the pregnancy has not proceeded as smoothly as one might wish, and that the doctors have advised your wife against becoming pregnant again. However, the child appears to be healthy, which is the important thing."

Jaime had no trouble interpreting that. _Not a dwarf_, was what his father was really saying.

"Father, you can't just…" Jaime began, and knew before he'd finished speaking that they were exactly the wrong words to say.

"I can and I will," Father said, turning swiftly on Jaime. "Or were you planning to provide me with some Lannister heirs? Should I expect to hear wedding bells sometime soon? Perhaps see you marry that unprepossessing gigantic floozy of yours who had the temerity to block my entry into my own son's house?" He let out a huff of derision.

Jaime stared at him. He didn't know what to say. 'No' was the obvious answer, if it hadn't been a rhetorical question, and 'no' always had been the answer as far as Jaime was concerned. He'd never been able to envisage himself being one of the two central participants in a wedding, much less a marriage. But now, thinking it over, thinking of _Brienne_, Jaime realised that maybe his answer to that question had changed. It wasn't a 'no' _or_ a 'yes', but more of a 'not right now'. _Not yet_.

It was just as well that Jaime was sitting down, because otherwise he might have fallen.

But of course he already had.

"I've been waiting fifteen years, ever since your sister married," his Father continued, fortunately quite oblivious of how his withering sarcasm had just rocked his eldest son's world. "I've waited and I've watched you play the field, and I've finally resigned myself to the fact that the family will not continue through you. That means that Tyrion's son needs to be brought up properly, with the understanding of what it means to be a Lannister, with the appropriate respect for and pride in his heritage and everything that comes with it."

Tyrion got up. "You're going to leave now," he told Father. His face was slightly pale, but he sounded firm. "Please leave quietly. I wouldn't want to have to call the police."

"You dare to threaten me..." Father said in a low, deadly voice.

"No," Tyrion said. "I'm just telling you what's going to happen." He turned to Cersei then, as if Father was already gone. "Did you want anything, Cersei?" he asked.

Cersei looked around, though somehow the main direction in which she looked was down her nose. "Do you have any wine? Maybe Arbour Gold? I suppose I can make do with Red if I have to," she said with a shrug of her elegantly clad shoulders.

"_Not_ what I meant," Tyrion said, not quite refraining from rolling his eyes.

Father rose to his feet. "This is not over," he told Tyrion, looming over him like an avenging… well, not an angel. Father was more like the embodiment of a lethal threat.

"Yes, it is," Tyrion said, his gaze not wavering from Father's. His voice was quiet, but the opposite of gentle.

"I'll see you to the door, Father," Jaime said, getting up as well.

"What did you mean, then?" Cersei asked Tyrion, as if the conversation that she was part of was the only one that was taking place. But of course, as far as she was concerned, it was. "No doubt you're just _dying_ to tell us."

"I was trying to find out if you had any reason for being here, or if you just tagged along to watch the show," Tyrion said.

"Maybe I just wanted to see my brothers at Christmas," Cersei said with a small, artificial laugh.

_That_ caught Jaime's attention, the slight self-satisfied smugness with which she answered, even through the haze of wonderment and disbelief that still enveloped him. He was sure that Cersei hadn't wanted to see himself or Tyrion—she'd never been interested in catching up with either of them, not for years—but she'd seen whatever it was she'd come to see, that was clear.

_Brienne_. Jaime knew he was right the moment it occurred to him: Cersei had come to inspect Brienne. His skin prickled with unease. He was going to have to take extra care to protect Brienne from Cersei. Not now, of course. Right now, Cersei had probably dismissed Brienne as nothing and nobody, an inexplicable diversion of Jaime's that would soon be over. But after tomorrow night, after the surprise he had planned for her… There wouldn't be any way to hide that.

"And now you've seen us," Jaime said. It could have sounded fond, or at least vaguely friendly. Well, maybe if they were some other brother and sister, from some other family entirely. But they were Lannisters, and they were twins who no longer knew who the other was. There was no room left for pleasantries.

The four of them went to the front door together, Father striding ahead, Cersei moving unhurriedly, taking in her surroundings with a look of bored uninterest, while Jaime and Tyrion brought up the rear.

"I'll see you at work next week," Father said to Jaime by way of farewell. "Won't I." It sounded more like a demand than a question.

"I'll be there," Jaime said. If they were to see each other next week, it would be Father's doing, not Jaime's. Father hardly ever visited Lannistercorp's main building in Park Street these days. He preferred the view from his private office at the very top of the Gateway Building at Circular Quay, looking out over Sydney Harbour.

Father strode out the door, followed by Cersei, who nodded at Jaime as she passed. Neither of them acknowledged Tyrion at all.

Tyrion closed the door behind them, and looked up at Jaime. "One day you're going to have to choose. You know that, right?" he said. His tone was almost conversational, but there was something about the way he bit out that last word that made the rest of it sound suddenly deadly serious.

"I _have_ chosen." Jaime frowned at Tyrion, stung. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"And next week you'll be back at work. You just said so yourself." Tyrion folded his arms. He looked… disappointed. In Jaime.

_What the hell?_

"That doesn't have anything to do with choosing sides."

"Maybe not to you, but you should know how Father is by now. If you're not utterly against him, then clearly you're totally on his side. Or you'd better be. That's how his mind works."

"Tyrion," Jaime began, not quite sure how he'd suddenly become the focus of his brother's ire. But before he could say anything more, sounds came from above, and then Brienne was coming down the stairs, with Shae making her way more slowly behind her.

_Brienne_, Jaime thought, watching the bottom of the pretty blue dress—the one that brought out the colour of her eyes so beautifully—swish around her long, muscular legs before her face, already so achingly familiar to him, came into view. In three short—or not so short—days, she'd become something he didn't want to live without. Ever. How had it happened? It didn't really matter, except that it had. Brienne smiled at Jaime, just a very slight, fleeting smile, but it was for him and no one else, just the same, as she joined him by the front door, stepping out of the way to let Shae pass.

"How much did you hear?" Tyrion asked, taking his wife's hands in his.

Shae's face was as hard and cold as if it had been carved out of marble. "Enough," she said. "More than enough."

“Happy Christmas from Father,” Tyrion said, but there was nothing happy at all in how he said it, or in the look on his face.

~*~

Brienne and Jaime didn't linger after Tywin and Cersei Lannister had departed. They made their farewells quickly, leaving Tyrion and Shae to the privacy they so clearly needed right then. Soon, the Aston Martin was back on the highway, heading north.

They didn't say much to each other at all for the first hour or so, but Jaime clasped Brienne's knee almost as soon as he'd released the hand brake, and his hand stayed there as he drove. After a while, Brienne laid her hand over his, and left it there. His hand was warm against her skin, as hers was against his. She needed that physical connection right now. Clearly, they both did. It was the only reason she felt in any way calm at all.

Brienne looked out the window and wondered just how a day that started out well, and then got better as it went along, had ended up… as it had.

The answer was obvious, of course, and started with 'L'. Brienne wondered if there was some sort of weird collective noun in the English language that could be applied to a group of Lannisters, like a parliament of owls or a murder of crows. A raft of otters, that was another one and… what was the one about tigers? An ambush of tigers. That was it.

An ambush of Lannisters. That felt appropriate after the events of this afternoon. But the family coat of arms featured a lion. A pride of lions. A pride of Lannisters.

_Pride always comes before a fall_. That was one of Aunt Lizzie's favourite sayings. Maybe, for once, Aunt Lizzie was right. Tywin Lannister would no doubt fall one day. Brienne wondered how many members of his family he'd bring crashing down with him.

"Brienne," Jaime said.

Brienne turned to look at him. His jaw was tense, she noticed, and his eyes were hidden from her behind his sunglasses.

"What is it?" she asked.

He hesitated, as if trying to find the right words, even though he was the one who had broken the silence. "I'm sorry about today," he said.

Brienne let out a breath. "There's no need for you to apologise. You don't control your father. Or your sister."

"No, I don't," he agreed, "but I should have expected that Father, at least, would choose to spend some time at the Rock over Christmas. I should have been _prepared_, and then I could have warned you, but I just didn't think… And then… Well." He swallowed. "I'm not my family, Brienne. I'm just me. I'm _Jaime_. Please don't forget that."

Brienne took his hand in both of hers, stroking her thumb along the back of it. "Jaime," she said. _Jaime, Jaime, Jaime_. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of having the right to say his name, to be able to simply talk to him whenever she wanted to, much less the right to have anything and everything else that they did together. "I know who you are."

With a muttered imprecation, Jaime snatched back his hand, but only so that he could grab the steering wheel in both hands and pull off the highway. He did it so suddenly that Brienne's head thumped back against the headrest as the Aston Martin screeched to a halt in the gravel. She was assailed with a sudden, unwelcome flashback to the day that Hyle had abandoned her on this very highway. But before she could think any further than that, Jaime was releasing his seatbelt, pulling off his sunglasses and turning to her, and then he was taking her face between his hands, and kissing her with frantic energy.

Whatever it was, whatever was going on in his head, it was a good thing. At least Brienne knew that much. This was always good. She kissed him back, feeling him slowly calm against her lips.

"Are you all right?" she asked, when at last the kiss ended. She reached up to cup her hand against his jaw and felt him tremble at her touch.

"I am," he said. "Well, no, not quite," he amended, "but I will be. I'm all right to drive, anyway."

"Good." Brienne let her hand fall back into her lap, and watched as Jaime buckled his seatbelt and then turned the key in the ignition. She waited until they were back on the road, and then she took his hand and placed it on her knee.

Jaime smiled, and turned his attention to the road.

Brienne lay back against the well-padded, buttery soft leather of the passenger seat. The roof was up, protecting them from most of the direct sunlight, and she closed her eyes against the rays that slanted in through the windscreen.

Perhaps she dozed. She didn't think she had, but then Jaime's hand was moving against her knee, stroking gently to get her attention. Brienne's eyes fluttered open, and she blinked as she looked about, disoriented. The car was no longer moving. In fact, it hadn't just stopped in traffic. It was parked—in an outdoor car park. She glanced out the window and saw that they were not far from a long, low building. Brienne had never been here before, but she'd driven past that building just this morning. She knew exactly where she was. Of course, the planes parked on the other side of it were also a bit of a clue.

"What are we…" she began, and stopped. She tried again: "Why are we at the airport?"

Jaime had the grace to look ever so slightly sheepish. "I told you I had another present for you. Remember?"

"The one that would be delivered tomorrow," Brienne said slowly.

"I might have… fudged that a bit," Jaime admitted. He looked a little like a small boy who had been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"'Fudged' in what sense?" Brienne asked.

"In the sense that it's not so much that the present will be delivered to you as you—and I —will be delivered to it."

Brienne stared at him. "So…" she said.

"So, we're flying down to Sydney. To the present."

Brienne shook her head. "Jaime," she said. _Jaime, Jaime, Jaime._ "This is going to be extravagant, isn't it?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question.

"I wanted to do something nice. For you," he said.

"You already do nice things for me." Brienne had absolutely no skill at flirting, but she tried to flutter her lashes. She probably looked ridiculous.

Jaime's eyes were fixed on hers. He didn't _look_ as if he thought she looked ridiculous. "Yes, but… I wanted to give you a night to remember," he said.

Brienne's brows creased in a frown. This whole week was something she'd never forget, and yet Jaime was acting as if it somehow wasn't enough, as if he himself wasn't enough. It made no sense… until she thought back to how his father had behaved this afternoon, and not just how he'd acted in relation to Brienne herself. The acoustics in the huge ground floor room in Tyrion's house were _very_ good. Brienne and Shae had been able to hear almost every word that had been said while they waited upstairs.

If Jaime really wanted to do this—whatever 'this' was—for her, because he thought it would make her happy, she could bear it—couldn't she? It was going to be over the top, that was clear, but how over the top could it really be? And Jaime had already gone to all the trouble of getting Melisandre to make that special dress for her—which reminded her. "My luggage is still back at the apartment," she said. "And the dress that Melisandre made for me. I take it that I'm going to need that in Sydney, too?"

"Don't worry about any of it," Jaime said. "Bronn's going to meet us in the terminal. He's bringing all of our luggage, including your dress."

"Of course he is," Brienne said faintly, and tried to suppress a twinge of disquiet. Just because they'd left all the other Lannisters behind didn't mean that Brienne wasn't still very much on planet Lannister. While she was with Jaime that was just how it would always be.

Jaime squeezed her hand, and then let it go. "Come on," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "The plane's waiting."

And yes, of course it was. And of course they didn't have to hurry, or worry about being late, because no pilot would ever dare take off without waiting for any and every Lannister who might want to travel on that flight.

"Okay," Brienne said.

Once she was standing beside the car in the afternoon sun, Jaime came around to join her and slung an arm across her shoulders. She snaked her arm around his back, and felt the tension go out of her, just like that. When they touched, all her misgivings melted away. He was a Lannister, yes, with everything—she was beginning to understand—that that implied, but he wasn't just a Lannister. He was _Jaime_, and for now he was hers.

For now.

She kept reminding herself of that as they walked across to the terminal where Bronn, and the plane, were waiting.

Four days to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the first chapter of my first JB fic, [More Than a Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001950/chapters/45123670), on the 28th of May. Posting this final chapter of this story today, almost six months to the day later, brings my total word count of JB fic past the 200,000 word mark.
> 
> I cannot believe how completely these two have eaten my brain over the past six months, or how on earth I've managed to write so many words about them. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm very far from done with them.
> 
> Thanks for joining me on the ride!


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